ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED APRIL 25, 2005:
If the heart of man is the barometer to the various passions we as humans can involve ourselves in, love is the mercury by which that metaphorical instrument in ourselves is controlled. Love is a quixotic beast. Love can be all encompassing, self-serving, intensely focused. Love can be tender and platonic. It can be boiling and carnal. It can be intellectually stimulating in nature. Love can embody human strength. Love can embody human suffering. Love can turn into destructive obsession. But most importantly, love gives meaning and direction where none once was.
While there are countless forms of love in the world, from brotherly love to the bonds we form with the very world around us, the most ever-present notion of love in our world is that of the blossoming romance; that kindled flame that is fanned into everlasting devotion or, at the very least, fundamentally changes the lives of the would-be lovers and those around them. Romances, the consummate love story, have regaled various cultures throughout time, and it was in 1927 at the end of the silent film era when the romance found its way truly into the medium of film as both Thalmia and Melpomene (the muses of Greek legend inspiring the famous masks of Comedy and Tragedy) were appeased by offerings to their theatrical sensibilities.
The early years of film were an interesting time. Stories took a back seat to images and the genres of film were a far cry from those of today. Yes, you had adventures, fantasies, comedies, but you also had a literal genre called "the mountain film", popular in Germany, where the stories basically revolved around people and the mountains they lived on and peaks they struggled to gain. The genres of film had yet to have clear lines drawn to define them and most filmmakers were too enraptured by the magic of the camera to draw those lines themselves. There were exceptions like Chaplin, Murnau, and Lang, directors who truly laid the groundwork for cinema and its genres, but love was a scarce commodity in film and the Romance was rudimentary in form. Some filmmakers touched on love itself (D.W. Griffith's Intolerance: Love's Struggle Through the Ages and Way Down East both dealt with love) but the Romance film was relatively uncharted territory. Then in 1927, two films paved the way for all the Romance films that would follow; Buster Keaton's subtle romantic comedy The General and F.W. Murnau's spellbinding and nearly tragic Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans. Both of these films are beautiful in their own way and were the undertaking of this article not already so tremendous I would gladly tackle them as well, for they certainly deserve more than cursory recognition, but I will leave these aged classics to your discretion and simply close in saying that from their release to now, the world has seen every classic tale of Romance in theme and plot brought to life on the silver screen and seen many a unique love story told as well.
I originally was prompted into embarking on this journey into Romance films last year when I was casually browsing through various "Top X" lists of this institution or that community. The "Top Love Stories" caught my eye because quite frankly there were entries there that just didn't belong. And we're not talking about a difference in opinion. This is a case of films not meeting the basic criteria for being a great Romance; that is, not being a Romance film to begin with. Certainly, more than a few of the films making up these lists I could wholeheartedly get behind, but others implied a phenomenally loose definition of the term "Romance." I agree, It's a Wonderful Life is a brilliant film, but it is not great for the love of George and Mary. Sure, Eva Marie Saint's saintly dealings with Marlon Brando in On The Waterfront are touching, but they're a backdrop to a darker film and have no business being touted as a great love story. And people, just because there is a romantic dalliance in a story a la Singin' in the Rain, that doesn't mean it's a romance. Singin' in the Rain is a film of vast entertainment, comically, visually, and musically. Don't play up a plot nuance that is merely an afterthought.

So I thought, "What films would I label as the greatest Romances of all time?" What films did I believe embodied romance and did not just use love and passion as a tool to other ends? What movies twisted our perception of a love story and created relationships between characters, which affected the viewer on a level they were unprepared for and unaccustomed to? Which movies had a love that was so palpable it warmed my heart or made me feel pleasantly awkward as if I were a voyeur spying on something incredibly intimate?
And then I began to watch movies.... and watch movies.... and watch movies. I watched movies I had forgotten, reflected on movies I knew by heart, compared and contrasted, ranked and filed, weighed the aspects of romance here and there and everywhere. Movies I had not seen in years and thought were shoe-ins like the aforementioned Singin' in the Rain were illuminated as decidedly non-love story in tone. Movies that tried very hard to be great romances like A Farewell to Arms (a film I have always respected on other levels) possessed only cold passion. And still other unusual films managed to find their way before my eyes and revealed themselves to be unexpectedly potent tales of yearning. Now, quite some time later, I have compiled a list of what I feel are the twenty-five best and truest Cinematic Romances of the most significant sort. Indeed, I have no West Side Story or Doctor Zhivago or even Gone With the Wind on said list, but in some way or another, despite their place in history, academic clout, and crucial love stories I do not believe they fit the mould for sparking a light in all the romantics of the world.
With that said, I give you two dozen of film's finest sagas of love and one more for good measure.
25) A Room with a View (1985)
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He's the sort who can't know anyone intimately, least of all a woman. He doesn't know what a woman is. He wants you as a possession, something to look at, like a painting or an ivory box. Something to own and to display. He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you.
So says George Emerson (Julian Sands) to Miss Lucy Honeychurch (Helena Bonham Carter) in the Merchant-Ivory production of E.M. Forster's A Room with a View. George and Lucy face each other in the library of Lucy's home and George speaks of Lucy's book-absorbed, dismissive, and faintly chauvinistic fiancé Cecil Vyse (Daniel Day Lewis). Circumstances have brought George and Lucy together again in England after a remarkably brief and innocent affair in Florence, Italy several years earlier. George has moved into town with his father and has taken it upon himself to win Lucy's heart once more (which is funny in that it took nearly no effort on his part to win Lucy in the first place). For Lucy it is a question of doing what she believes is proper versus doing what she believes is right. Deep down she understands that Cecil can never truly love a woman, but she thinks to leave him would be to bring shame upon herself and her family. It is also true that hers and George's relationship was but a spell cast by the allure of a foreign land, but there is a kernel of authenticity in their affection for one another that we are led to believe can be nurtured into something lasting.
E.M. Forster is perhaps one of the greatest classical authors of all time, certainly one of the greatest British authors, and his books always dealt with the repression society (English society in particular) forced upon its people. In his stories there are always conflicts between following the heart and following the status quo, and there are always characters intent on being non-conformists, as George and his father are here. But A Room with a View is Forster's most romantic journey into the matters of the heart (Forster's Maurice delved deeper perhaps, but it is much less pleasant). The characters are elegant in design but possess a tempestuous nature they keep reined in at all times to maintain the ignis fatuus of upstanding society. Their motivations are simplistic but it is the lushness of their dialogue and the beauty of the world about them that permeates the story with a sense of wonder.
The film starts out in a Florentine hotel where a knot of well-off socialites has gathered to vacation. Lucy and Charlotte (her older cousin and chaperone played by Maggie Smith) have been promised a room with a view but are left disappointed by a window pointing to the unattractive wall of the structure across the way. As they lament over their situation at dinner their first night, George's father (played by the always complaisant Denholm Elliott) offers to trade rooms with the ladies. This causes a bit of a scandal as Charlotte finds it perfectly rude of the man to make such an obliging offer and Mr. Emerson complains as he taps upon his temple, "I don't care what I see outside. My vision is within! Here is where the birds sing! Here is where the sky is blue!" Mr. Emerson is a generally scandalous sort despite being as kindly and gentle a man as they come, simply because he bucks the trend and ignores social graces he finds ludicrous and impractical. Eventually, Lucy, with the help of another all-around pleasant fellow, Reverend Beebe (Simon Callow), convinces her cousin to take the room and not fear owing the Emerson's for their favor. The debacle, however, sets into motion an innocuous interest between the two young people and the following day George finds himself taking care of Lucy in the city as a guide and protector of sorts.
We then follow the would-be lovebirds to the Italian countryside as they get caught up in the wonder of the fields bathed in golden sunlight and share a kiss that is almost childlike, though it is still quite capable of causing Lady Charlotte much chagrin. Charlotte decides it is in her charge's best interest to make a hasty getaway from Florence--and from George-- and the two depart thinking that is the last they'll ever see of the Emersons (Lucy is disappointed to an extent, but weighs her ladylike responsibilities against her adolescent flights of fancy and follows Charlotte without much resistance). Flash forward a few years and we find George and Lucy back together in England. Many of the characters from Florence are still in the picture; Mr. Emerson, Charlotte, the Reverend Beebe, and they all have their input into the quandary of Lucy and her two courters. In the end it all rests on George's weighty outburst in Lucy's library.
The film is wry and touching, majestically packaged, and pleasantly romantic as we've already established. Ismail Merchant and James Ivory are masters at making erudite and refined cinema, and particularly beautiful novel adaptations. Ivory as director captures the literacy of Forster and his oft restrained idyllic nature. Some may not be convinced of a bond between George and Lucy, but it is not the fate of the relationship that matters in this story. What is highlighted and most poetic is the spark of young love in the early part of the film and the rebellion of love against the accepted way of doing things in the latter half. It is the audacious melodrama tucked away beneath the witty exchanges and cultured interaction that smacks of great romance.
24) Pillow Talk (1959)/Down With Love (2003)

Rock Hudson and Doris Day's Pillow Talk exists in a strange dimension of its own creation. At its core, it is a tender and comic romance the likes of which Audrey Hepburn would feel at home in. The film has a risqué and mature aspect to it, however, that turns it into another beast altogether. There are times when the characters make us laugh out loud even today, forty-five years later. But there are quite a few times as well where the characters make us raise our eyebrows in surprise at the near-bawdiness of the sexual undertones in the film for its day, forty-five years in our past. Always, though, we smile at the film's two headstrong independents as they fall head-over-heels in love with each other no matter their intent. The film doesn't over-intellectualize its packaging, but keeps things stylish and buoyant. It tells the story of a man and woman frustrating the hell out of each other back in the days when neighbors in apartment buildings shared phone lines and the man, a player to be sure, decides his best revenge would be to pose as a simple and gentlemanly Texan and work his womanizing magic on her. The tale often feels like something Nora Ephron would have penned had she been writing screenplays in the '50s.
Hudson and Day's characters reside in a vibrant and non-menacing New York, seemingly designed purely with their respective pranks and quests for love in mind. Even the people around them are pieces in a grand game of love. Most important of those supporting players is Tony Randall, who rounds out a quirky trio as the best friend and financier to Hudson and the potential husband to Day that unwittingly gets caught up in the middle of their feud/fling.
Jump to 2003 and we have Down With Love, which in spoofing and paying homage to the saucy romantic comedies of Day and Hudson actually manages to be an even funnier, more visually delectable, and more romantic story of deception. Ewan McGregor and Renee Zelwegger play the conniving lovers and David Hyde Pierce steps into Tony Randall's schlumpy, lonely shoes (Tony Randall actually has a minor role in the film as well). Fundamentally, the two films are the same. McGregor is a star playboy and Zelwegger has a score to settle with him. McGregor sees fit to mesmerize her in the guise of a good guy, country boy astronaut in order to conquer her and debunk the man-hating propaganda she peddles. There is more substance to the two's rivalry (McGregor is a journalist of rock star status who refuses to do a story on Zelwegger's new women-empowering book and then takes umbrage at her public denouncing of his philandering), but the hilarity of the situations the pair put themselves in for the sake of their various ruses and the ineffable charm they have on one another and the audience are the cornerstones to the movie.
Searching for a reason as to why these naughty but nice comedies buzz with such palpable passion, I was reminded that charm can go a very long way in this world. Both of these movies are alluring, handsome, and daring enough to beguile the most guarded of viewers. It is in this sense that the films generally embody their male protagonists. Consider the many various scenes involving telephone conversations in both films. They are cleverly written and self-assuredly acted. They employ a wonderful use of a split screen making sure to show both gorgeous people in each film at the same time and the shots are ingeniously set up in some cases to create an illusion of sexual goings-on in the way the two characters move and react on their sides of the screen (there is also a fun and less suggestive opening credit sequence in Pillow Talk where pillows are thrown around the split screen playfully). And the physical jokes are only the beginning as thinly veiled off-color remarks and quips are made over the phone to great effect. This mechanic allows for the audience to feel the connection that exists between Hudson and Day/McGregor and Zelwegger even at their bitterest moments, and it certainly allows us to feel the humorously portrayed tension, sexual or otherwise.
And just as it is the male leads of these two movies that personify the films themselves, they are also one of the central pleasures in watching. For all intents and purposes, Brad Allen and Catcher Block are ignoble jerks, but there is an indelible charisma to the men. It is the oddest sensation, as they are the kind of guys most respectable human beings would denounce, but damned if you don't want to be around them, bask in their glory, and-- well-- love them. You can feel this glamour around McGregor in a large number of his roles. He is a hopeless romantic, even at his most abrasive here as Catcher Block. It is a telling factor in why he appears in three of the movies to appear on this list and that's to say nothing for the romantic and spellbindingly amiable appeal he has in other films like Big Fish, Trainspotting and even Star Wars. Here he is utterly engaging as the often smarmy and always debonair Block and as twisted as it is, we revel in seeing just how far he can go in pushing the buttons of Zelwegger's feminine sensibilities.
Although Down with Love and Pillow Talk slide home with happy, hearts a-twitter endings, that isn't what truly makes them romantic. It is the vicious, shameless battle of the sexes that reverberates with a barely distinguishable sense of loneliness and insecurity. There are some truly brutal moments, as when interior decorator Jan Morrow (Day) is hired by Brad Allen and she turns his apartment into a gaudy harem's lair or when Catcher Block finally breaks down every defense Barbara Novak (Zelwegger) has thrown up and without pause, he turns on a recording device to catch her at a moment of weakness so that he may publicly destroy her. The malice bubbles at the surface, but when you dive down into the actions of Morrow and Block, you see a sorrowful kind of longing there. These films make light of the troubles that lure men and women into heartache, but they do so because they understand them and they are only too pleased to give their characters those happy, hearts a-twitter endings.

23) Chasing Amy (1997)
Above all else, Kevin Smith's Chasing Amy is an elegy for the foolish lover-- a lilting tune for those sad sacks that let a thing of beauty slip through their fingers for reasons even they cannot understand. It is a tragedy about three individuals caught in a maelstrom of emotions they cannot cope with, but also Smith's sharing of the intimate knowledge that with love there often comes loss and with loss there are often lessons to be learned about one's self and the life you will lead in the future. Chasing Amy came at a time when Smith was dejected with the Hollywood business model and, turning down several million dollars in budget, Smith made this often uncomfortable but bemusing movie of an authentic tale of love for a quarter of a million dollars and winds up with a deeply personal and soul baring film. Beneath its crude exterior of vulgar, sexually centered humor and buried within its despondent plot, a belief shines through that no matter the heartbreaking misery we so easily suffer by our own misguided hand, life goes on and the prospect of finding happiness is there if we can only accept our mistakes for what they were. Mistakes.
Chasing Amy is such an enterprising and resonant departure for Smith that even with the reoccurring characters and intertwining plot details between it and the other four films of his Jersey series, it stands as a much more grown-up undertaking. Though it is not his finest or even most profound film (That would be Dogma), it is the only one of his ventures where the comedy is secondary to the message, the characters, and romance presented. Chasing Amy is a romantic comedy in the sense that, yes, there are a lot of laughs as Holden (Ben Affleck) tries to woo Alyssa (Joey Lauren Adams). From that perspective Chasing Amy is a romantic comedy just as Clerks is a slacker comedy, Mallrats is a...well... action-slacker-romantic comedy, Dogma is a religious satire, and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back is a hedonistic, fan favoring, spoof-heavy comedy adventure. But as we watch the romance take root, flourish, then wither, and eventually die, the laughs vanish like ghosts and the whole production begins to seem Shakespearean in nature-- just without all the bloodshed. We have two lovers uniting in an affront to some around them (though instead of using skin color or feuding families, Smith makes his female lead a lesbian); we watch jealousy rear its ugly head in both Holden and his best friend, Banky (Jason Lee); and Holden possesses a fatal flaw that brings about his downfall and the loss of that which he's worked so hard to achieve, that fatal flaw being a heavy dose of pride.
If you have ever seen Kevin Smith out of character in any fashion (and if you have not then I would highly recommend the monstrously entertaining and insightful An Evening with Kevin Smith), you will know that he is generally a soft spoken, witty, but self-deprecating man that employs his crassness and sensitivity equally. The most difficult aspect of Chasing Amy is that after watching it once a second viewing becomes difficult, not only because it makes you mull over any past romantic injustices you've been a part of, but because it is an incredibly private look into the heart of Smith himself. His character, Silent Bob, is at his most loquacious in this film and delivers a reflective speech that not only gives the film its title and identifies Holden's pride, but comes off almost as Smith paying penance for his own past. It is a somber, but enlightening moment.
The characters start out in New York City. Holden McNeil and Banky Edwards, the creators of a popular comic book "Bluntman & Chronic", are guests at a comic book convention. After a near homicidal autograph session where Banky assaults an irritating collector demeaning Banky's status as "inker", the two gravitate towards a guest panel where minorities in the business speak about their place in comic books. It is there the only character more colorful than the sharp-tongued and homophobic cynic of Banky (who isn't as diabolical as the Bard's Iago, but who causes quite enough trouble as it is) is introduced in Hooper, the very effeminate homosexual black man that puts on a splendidly comic front as an angry, racially driven radical. After Holden and Banky participate in a staged argument on African Americans in pop culture and a fake shooting occurs to scare off the audience and panelists, the only person remaining is fellow comic book creator Alyssa Jones, who is unfazed by the shenanigans and amiably chastises the trio for their antics. Holden is immediately smitten with her and the four go to a bar where the two hit it off. These two early scenes are the high point of the film's comedy and the starting point of the air of romance throughout.
The affair is anything but generic. Holden soon finds out Alyssa is involved with another woman and he is forced to resign himself to being her friend only. The chemistry between the two is too powerful for them to handle though, and in a perfectly squirmy scene we wring our hands and bite our lip as Holden pours his heart out to Alyssa and pleads to give him a chance. Initially enraged at his sentiment, Alyssa comes to remember that the original reason she opened herself up to females was so that she wasn't cutting off fifty percent of the population in the search of her soul mate. She believes Holden might be that person and the two foster an all-too-perfect union. A dark cloud looms over them in the character of Banky, however. Banky harbors an incredible jealousy towards Alyssa, not only because of the chasm forming in his twenty year friendship with Holden, but because underneath the layers of gay jokes and machismo Banky might just be in love with his friend. He succeeds in digging up dirt on Alyssa and reveals to Holden a promiscuous past. When Alyssa admits the truth behind her youthful experimentation, Holden cannot accept the fact that his inexperience does not make him less of a man to her and that no matter her past, he is what she truly wants. And so come the heartbreaks and broken friendships as Holden confronts the two people closest to him about their secrets.
Smith tackles sensitive subjects (or at least what was considerably more sensitive eight years ago) like homosexuality and sexual freedom realistically and intelligently. Smith creates Banky as the lens through which the immature and ignorant would see these subjects, and frank monologues from Silent Bob (Smith's character), Alyssa, and Hooper (effectively Banky's foil) share with us viewpoints that would probably make the world a better place if they were more common. It is poor Holden, the everyman-- the every-dumb-conventional-thinkingman-- stuck in the middle and forced to learn things the hard way.
The cast of Chasing Amy is less important than the characters Smith has written to life. Jason Lee effortlessly upstages his co-stars with his energetic brooding and scathing commentary that cuts to the heart of matters, but it is the fact that his commentary is generally and terribly wrong that allows the viewer to pay more attention to Affleck and Adams. Note the way Banky says, "This is all going to end badly," early on. It's so subtle he probably doesn't even realize it, but he's not making a premonition. He's making a promise. Banky's bile exists because of problems he has with himself, not with the world, and when Banky declares with ostensible frustration that "man-friendly lesbians" are a figment of Holden's imagination, it feels like the desperate act of a spurned lover.
It is hard to see Chasing Amy as a great romance once the other shoe drops and the hurting begins. You might be asking right now how I could consider it so. Watch it. If Smith has it his way, by the end, you'll know.
22) Roman Holiday (1953)

If Ewan McGregor is one of the most charming, handsome, and romantic men ever to grace the big screen, then Audrey Hepburn is surely one of the most winsome, lovely, and romantic women to light up cinema. The elfin, fragile looking creature that dazzled Hollywood and took America by storm in the 50s was once quoted as saying, "For me, the only things of interest are those linked to the heart." She loved starring in comedies and they nearly always involved those matters of the heart she cared about so. Hepburn brought a childlike demureness to her roles, but her acting was tinged with class in a strange and fresh way unlike most of the other actresses of her day. She was typically modest about her abilities and possessed a remarkable integrity, which allowed her not only to retire at the apex of her career and devote herself to her family, but to continue to endear audiences in small roles all the way up to 1989 when she starred alongside Richard Dreyfuss in Steven Spielberg's Always.
Not only was Roman Holiday Hepburn's first foray into the Hollywood motion picture world (her acting up to this point was in French and British works), it was her first lead role as well-- and it was given to her with no prior lead experience. Hepburn eventually went on to win an Oscar that year for her turn as Princess Ann, a young woman of foreign royalty that seeks a couple days of freedom as a normal girl-- a normal person-- when on a visit to Rome. Once again, as with A Room with a View, the majesty of Italy enraptures our heroine and she partakes in a slice of life she would never have tasted in the strict societal confines she and Lucy Honeychurch could likely relate to each other on, albeit on different levels.
Enter Joe Bradley, played by the restrained and marvelous Gregory Peck. Peck might not have been as immersed in romance as Hepburn, more famous for his various roles as troubled father (To Kill a Mockingbird, The Omen, Cape Fear) or sea captain (Guns of Navarone, Captain Horatio Hornblower R.N., Moby Dick, On the Beach), but he did try his hand in a few roles involving relationships with a female co-star including the aforementioned On the Beach and, perhaps most notably, Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound. Peck once claimed that during this period, every romantic comedy script he read felt as if it were written with Cary Grant in mind. The trend understandably frustrated Peck, but nevertheless, when Roman Holiday came along, the man behind the smooth and full-toned voice and sly features hopped on board willingly enough to play the part of Joe Bradley.
Bradley is an American journalist assigned to a press conference the princess is scheduled to hold. He decides to skip out on the function and instead comes across the princess, calling herself Anya Smith, lying on a bench in the city. At first he believes Ms. Smith to just be a girl who has had a little too much wine during a night on the town (she's in fact merely fighting off sleep), and he grudgingly allows her to sleep on a particularly uncomfortable looking piece of furniture in his apartment. The following morning comes and a visit to his office reveals that the young girl asleep in his lodgings looks far too much like Princess Ann's photographs to be a coincidence. Bradley races back to his apartment in the hopes of getting a scoop on the stray blueblood and is surprised when she requests of him a day showing her around the city.
Taken at face value, Joe and Ann's adventures in Rome alongside Joe's photographer sidekick (an unexpectedly fantastic supporting performance by future "Green Acres" star, Eddie Albert) do not constitute a typical idea of a romance because, though they share some touchingly intimate moments, the two are never interested in becoming "romantically involved." Joe knows who Ann is and goes from chasing a story to happily accompanying her on an adventure. And Ann knows who she is and knows no relationship could ever exist between her and any man on her wild and whirlwind tour through the city; she has every intention of returning to her life, but she sees this as one last chance to breathe in the world as a girl before she becomes an adult and accepts her responsibility. The romance is there in full bloom, nevertheless. There is a passionate enthusiasm with each other and with drinking in the small joys of life together that no matter how momentary or ephemeral their time together is, it forms a lasting memory that allows Joe to re-evaluate his indifference towards everything and allows Ann to feel like a human being again, and in turn, re-instill a little love into the cold and sometimes detached position she holds in society.
Roman Holiday is by far the most innocuous and lighthearted romp of the romance films we've discussed thus far. Even the mostly cheerful Pillow Talk and Down with Love had their moments of darkness that are wont to pop up in any genuine tale of love. It also has the least to say, but the gentleness of its story, the whimsical nature of its characters, and the performances by a fabulous Peck and the Princess of Romance herself, Hepburn, combine to form an unassuming film whose grace is tantamount to that of Hepburn herself.
21) Punch-Drunk Love (2002)
While Kevin Smith's Chasing Amy is an exercise in depicting an awkward tale of romance involving uncomfortable situations, Paul Thomas Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love is a masterpiece in the same vein. The primary differences being that the awkwardness is centered almost solely in its main character who is, in fact, extremely eccentric and that any of the dark aspects of the picture are complementary subplots to the love story. This is a love story that ends quite happily actually, another distinction from Smith's film, and its offbeat quirkiness and pleasing conclusion make it amazingly re-watchable.
What is most thrilling about experiencing this movie is the display of heretofore-untapped resources and unrevealed layers on the part of Adam Sandler. Sandler plays our antagonist, Barry Egan, and he is in every way an Adam Sandler character. He is socially inept, he is more than a little bizarre, he has a tremendously fragile ego, he is prone to violence, but locked inside all of that emotional baggage is a parcel of sensitivity and what basically amounts to a good guy. Sounds a lot like Happy Gilmore or Billy Madison, doesn't it? Well that's not by accident. Paul Thomas Anderson wrote the part specifically for Sandler, seeing vast potential in the man's body of work but feeling a definite lack of that spark that could conceivably separate Sandler from his ex-SNL peers. Now, I cannot deny that I'm actually rather fond of Happy Gilmore, but I also know precisely where Anderson is coming from, as a great deal of Sandler's work feels hollow. In Punch-Drunk Love, he is in familiar territory, but Barry is a lush character, a bottomless well in comparison. We come to understand Barry's weirdness, shyness, and pent up rage and when he comes around and becomes that winning good guy, it isn't forced or contrived.
Punch-Drunk Love tells the odd story of the series of life altering events that shatter Barry's shell of introversion and self-loathing and teach him to stick up for himself and to go out and grab life by the horns. The film starts off with a bang as Barry witnesses an abrupt and shocking car accident (presumably a portentous event, hinting to the violent shaking up his life is about to receive) and then is followed up by a curious but seemingly innocent moment directly afterward where a van stops in front of the alley of his business and drops a harmonium on the side of the street. Barry is initially freaked out and then curious about the instrument and it stands as the other side of the coin, the representation of the good that is about to come into Barry's life. Barry has to deal with a lot of crap in the next few days we follow him around. He has seven intensely unlikable sisters (we really only see them for brief moments, but in regards to the audience sharing Barry's experiences with them, unlikable is the only word I'd use) that nettle him to the point of abuse. He gets wrapped up in an extortion racket run by Phillip Seymour Hoffman that uses a phone sex service as its front. On top of all this, we witness in brief expressions and self-conscious statements an agonizing loneliness and frustration in Barry that he keeps hidden behind a nervous, complaisant smile.
Then along comes Lena Leonard, played by Emily Watson (Breaking the Waves, Gosford Park, Red Dragon). Lena is an interesting character, subtle only in comparison to Barry. She encounters and expresses interest in Barry twice, though we are led to believe she has had him in her sights for quite some time. She is attractive, inviting, and seems generally well adjusted-- most certainly in comparison to Barry-- but there still lurks in her an emptiness that she cannot fill and a meekness that belies her seeming normalcy.
The film brings Lena and Barry together rather effectively, complete with a crowbar action sequence, the nostalgic and somewhat shrill Shelly Duvall ballad "He Needs Me" from Robert Altman's Popeye, and a spontaneous trip to Hawaii involving a humorous subplot about pudding.
The whole production is striking because, while Anderson's fingerprints are most certainly here and there, this is such an anomaly compared to his other feature works (Magnolia, Boogie Nights, Hard Eight). Anderson is a respected director for his young age, but I have no problem saying I wish more of his work felt this inspired and unpredictable. It is true, his Magnolia is a much-adored film, but its unpredictability, to me, has an air of being forced or even condescending at times. Magnolia tackles the topic of love as well, and on a grander scale it even uses some of the same themes Punch-Drunk Love employs through Sandler's character. The problem with Magnolia is that it plods along in its melancholy manner and is filled with sound (or plenty of dialogue at least) and fury, but signifies nothing. Anderson tries to address love, loneliness, abnormality, and randomness but only speaks in riddles or lets his thoughts scatter. Here, Anderson retains his dark edge, but his film says something. Yes, it speaks of light and airy subject matter at its core; a kinder view of love, but it speaks of it so well that it echoes profoundly. That's to say nothing for the singular quality of his characters and his story.
Anderson once said in reference to Steven Spielberg that he makes fairy tales, and that, despite making movies about "cancer and frogs" (Magnolia again), he wished he could get the kind of spectatorship Spielberg recieves. Punch-Drunk Love wasn't much of a box office success. In fact, neither was Magnolia (only Boogie Nights actually made a profit at the box office due to its expectedly enticing elements). None of this is surprising. Anderson makes very different cinema than the regular Box Office smasher, Spielberg. Very peculiar cinema. Punch-Drunk Love is Anderson's first step towards fairy tales, though, and it made me readily and broadly smile with its earnest dawning of a romance and if he keeps that dream of his in mind, the critics and the small, eclectic fan base he's built up won't be the only spectators in theaters showing his films in the future.
Continue on to Part Two of this edition of Observations Behind the Popcorn Bucket where I detail the next five entries in that which has become one hellishly arduous but incredibly fun (it's fascinating and amazing the complex web of relations and links you can find in these films) project.
NOTE: This week, as of this article's publication, two of the respectable members of filmmaking society I mention in this very segment departed this world. Ismail Merchant of Merchant-Ivory Productions passed away at age 68 and Eddie Albert, most beloved for playing Oliver Douglas on "Green Acres", left us at age 99.
From this writer's point of view, they will be missed, but celebrated and I hope I have not become some DOOMBRINGER capable of felling celebrities with the very text I write. Stay safe, Ewan!