It requires a healthy amount of context to boil down someone’s personality to one word, but if I had to choose one for myself, I’d probably go with Combative.
I subscribe to self-deprecating humor, much like most endearingly cynical 20-somethings. It’s a fun, moderately family-friendly form of humor that also (likely) masks a potentially deep-seated bitterness stemming from some personal experience that left a staggeringly long-standing, tender mark on your life. See what I did there? Because of this combative, self-deprecating personality trait, I’m often party to conversations involving some sort of humorous collision of passionate opinions. And you can’t be combative without some degree of passion, or at least, you shouldn’t be.
One of the most recent of these fun, challenging arguments involved a seemingly passing conversation surrounding the cherished holiday film Love, Actually, that I took quite literally, as I’m known to do (because why not?). Now, I’m incredibly aggressive with my passion for movies, and storytelling in general, because of the implications and influences it can have on our lives. I have high standards because you shouldn’t settle, and the suspension of disbelief is something I value a great deal. So when the charismatic force of nature that is my boss’ boss’ boss’ wife (C.) tells me in passing that one of her favorite movies is Love, Actually, my natural response was to (jokingly) scoff and upturn my nose, figuratively. To be more precise, I said something along the lines of:
“Oh! So you enjoy stories encouraging stalking, cheating, petty decision making, and complacency in unhappy relationships?”
She took this like a champ and returned my sass in kind. Fast forward a bit, and it’s the holiday season and for C., that means it’s Love, Actually season. So the conversation comes back up, only this time instead of laughing off the jabs at each other’s taste in movies, I say:
“How about this, I’ll give you a two-page paper on why Love, Actually sucks, and you can send me back your response. We’ll settle this.”
She agreed. And then I found out she was a journalism major, and her husband actually laughed at me, offering a simple “Good luck, pal.”
It’s not lost on me that Love, Actually is a cheesy romantic comedy from 2003, and that it’ll be subject to the passage of time and ever-changing political correctness of our society. It’s also not lost me that taste in films and the reasons we each enjoy (or dislike) them is absolutely subjective. The only way to objectively determine the quality of any given movie is to consider the technical aspects, such as cinematography, casting, pacing, and more. But who truly cares about those things? I don’t have time to watch a movie only to pick out technical crap I don’t genuinely understand. I’m all about the sentiment, the movie magic! The message a movie can send and the experience you can take away from it. I immerse myself in the story with a sometimes critical, read-between-the-lines approach.
If you were to ask me what I thought of Love, Actually even a few years ago, I’d have given you roughly the same response I gave C.: It’s a movie that encourages stalking, romanticizes adultery, petty decision making, and complacency in unhappy relationships. And from a certain angle, those things are true.
Sarah and Michael
Sarah works at some sort of vague design agency, and often works late nights. The first time we’re introduced to Sarah, she’s been summoned to Harry’s office (her boss) and is promptly asked to silence her cell, hinting that it’s always going off. Harry swiftly makes his point: Sarah’s head-over-heels for Karl, her coworker, and has been for some time. Harry wants her to ask him out, because it’s the talk of the office and even Karl knows. Skip ahead a bit, and it’s true, Sarah’s severely infatuated with Karl, and her phone is always going off. Initially, based on the way Sarah answers her ever-ringing phone, you’d think she was already in some strained relationship. Come to find out, she’s forever available to her mentally ill brother, Michael, and she’s all he’s got. When Sarah finally does score big points with Karl, their romantic moment that’s very clearly going to lead to a promising relationship is interrupted, twice, by Michael. Their story ends with an incredibly morose “Good night Sarah, Merry Christmas” from Karl. And that’s that.
This is a story of self-sacrifice. And the takeaway from the movie seems to be that Love Actually means family for Sarah. As family for Sarah is Michael, she’ll put him first, always. Even if it means a strained love life and the loss of a potential partner she’s crushed on for years. She’s stuck in an unhappy relationship with her brother, but she loves him.
Harry and Karen
Harry is Sarah’s boss at the vague design agency, and is married to the lovely, witty Karen. The general feel of Harry and Karen’s marriage is a comfortable one, consisting of a loving, comfortable family. At the same time, Harry has a new assistant, Mia, who drops hints of interest towards Harry for weeks, leading up to the Christmas Party that Harry delegates to Mia to plan. Harry definitely notices these inappropriate gestures, which culminate in Mia flatly telling him she’s down for whatever while dancing with him at the company party. Harry ultimately ends up buying a necklace for Mia, because men are pigs and I guess the temptation was worth it. Their story ends with Karen discovering the necklace Harry purchased in secret was for someone else, with her confronting Harry about it. Their final moments seem to involve them dealing with their circumstance, with Karen noticeably less enthused.
Harry and Karen’s story is certainly one of adultery, though I’m not of the belief that Harry slept with Mia. Their affair, for me, leans towards the emotional side, with Harry being on the verge of making one of the worst mistakes of his life only to be caught by his wife. For Harry and Karen (mostly Karen), Love Actually means acceptance. Through Karen’s acceptance of her own grief, and Harry’s acceptance that he royally messed up, they keep their family together, despite it never feeling quite as good as it did before.
Jamie and Aurélia
Jamie’s a writer, and his circumstance is brought on by the chance discovery that his wife is having an affair with Jamie’s brother. As one does when confronted with the realization that your relationship is over, he retreats to his cottage in France to write and brood. During which, he’s introduced to his new Portuguese housemaid, Aurélia. Aurélia doesn’t speak English, and a severe language barrier is established over the course of a few short scenes where Jamie makes a fool of himself. Despite the language barrier, the two become attracted to one another and communicate through rough charades and broken languages. Their love story wraps up with Jamie, after deciding his feelings for Aurélia, attempting to learn Portuguese before ditching his family to fly back to France and propose to Aurélia. Which she accepts with no regard to Jamie’s odd quest to track her down out of the blue.
Jamie and Aurélia’s pairing is meant to be unlikely, because of the obvious obstacles they face in communication. Despite not knowing each other, Love Actually brings them together, because I guess some things just work out that way, even if you have no idea who you’re agreeing to marry.
David and Natalie
David’s the newly elected Prime Minister, and Natalie’s a new member of his household staff. Their introduction is endearing, featuring a casual David enjoying Natalie stumbling over her inability to stop cursing. Soon after, David endures a meeting with the pompously arrogant President of the United States to discuss their ongoing international relationship. With the brief info we’re given, David’s cabinet wants him to take a firm approach towards the USA, whereas David thinks a soft touch is the better solution. It’s shown that the President’s a jackass, and is implied that he indulges himself however he wants. So much so that David discovers the President making inappropriate advances towards Natalie after their meeting. After mulling this over for 5 minutes, David attends a press conference where he and the President are asked about their plans moving forward as allied countries. David, clearly referring to the way the President has behaved behind closed doors, decides a petty approach and a faux stance against “bullies” is the best way to respond to the question regarding international relations. Later on, after having Natalie transferred due to her clear effect on David, he tracks her down by knocking door-to-door in her neighborhood. They make out at a children’s holiday concert and that’s that.
David and Natalie’s story seems to be one of impulse. For them, Love Actually is jumping at the opportunity to pursue how you feel, even if that means embarrassing yourself or, in David’s case, risking international collateral damage out of jealousy.
Juliet and Mark
Mark’s the Best Man at his best friend Peter’s wedding. From the interactions we’re given, it’s implied that Mark is not a fan of Juliet. Peter knows it, but tolerates it. Juliet feels it and makes efforts to extend several olive branches, with no progress. Once Juliet realizes her wedding video is crap, she reaches out to Mark, as he’d filmed at the wedding as well, in hopes that his tape would be better. Mark evades her with nonsense excuses and rude, passive aggressive remarks, which ultimately prompts Juliet to ambush him at his apartment. She finds the video, and it’s eerily just close-up shots of Juliet. Adorable, candid moments solely of this woman Mark seems to hate. Juliet, surprised as she thought Mark hated her, has no idea what to do now that it’s become clear Mark’s in love with her. He provides her with little explanation, only that his behavior is out of “Self-preservation”, for whatever that’s worth. In the end, Mark shows up at Peter and Juliet’s doorstep with cards and a boombox, Say Anything style, and Juliet answers. To avoid awkward confrontation with his best friend, he asks Juliet to lie about who’s at the door while he proceeds to confess his love to Juliet, “without hope or expectation” of reciprocation. It’s meant to be romantic, a sort of vulnerable “Here’s what I feel, and I’ll move past it but I just need you to know because on Christmas you present potentially damning information to your best friend’s wife”. Mark takes off, having said his piece, and Juliet runs after him, offering a loving kiss, because who cares about marriage and vows and all that nonsense? Mark says it’s enough. We later see Mark, Peter, and Juliet together at the airport, and everything seems fine.
I don’t pretend to know entirely what Mark and Juliet’s story’s about. To me, it seems it’s about unrequited love, and is meant to be bittersweet. And for Mark and Juliet, Love Actually appears to be truth and understanding. Truth in that Mark is in love with Juliet and knows nothing can be done about it, and understanding in that Juliet now has some clarity on Mark’s past behavior. The kiss at the end is where it’s confusing, as it provides the viewer mixed signals about the future of their relationship, and obviously cheating is wrong. Not to mention how lying and keeping secrets from your best friend/husband is a formula for disaster. Maybe that’s just me.
The Truth, Actually
I enjoy Love, Actually. I adore stories surrounding love and it’s various forms. Whether it be borne out of jealousy and envy, or as cliche as true love and fairy tales. My favorite movies surrounding love are Moulin Rouge and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, both of which tackle the subject in a non-traditional fashion. They aren’t positive stories, more so realistic ones. In an abstract sense.
For Love, Actually, there are stories for everyone. There’s a story about loss and how love helps you deal with it, as with Daniel and his stepson, Sam. There’s a story about finding love in an unexpected place, such as the stand-in sex scene body doubles Jack and Just Judy. There’s platonic love, where Billy Mack and Joe have spent their lives together and stick around because they’re all they’ve got at the end of the night, and there’s even lustful “love”, if you can call it that, where Colin and uh… general American girls are concerned. You can nitpick movies all day, and I do, because it can be fun and revealing about how you see the world. With movies, reading between the lines has helped me through my own personal experiences, and it’s largely why I’m so passionate about them. My personal experiences, positive and negative as they are, are why I’m combative. Those same personal experiences had me view Love, Actually through a cynical lens, mainly because of how it’s received in general by the casual viewer: a series of heartfelt love stories. Upon revisiting the movie this year, I discovered that to be true. It is a series of heartfelt love stories (except for you, Colin), and when reading between the lines, they each offer up one message or another, and as long as you’re paying attention and willing to suspend disbelief, those messages are going to land.
When I watched this movie for the first time a few years back, I was confused and frustrated at what I was seeing, but I was also emotionally down on my luck and frustrated with my own love life. Cynical and bitter. Watching it now, I feel differently because I’m in a better place, and things look differently when you switch lenses.
I still think the movie’s largely a surface-level romantic comedy, and I think the Colin/American Girls bit feels like a skit inserted into an otherwise cheesy rom-com, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t smiling or laughing during most of the movie’s run-time. So while I may not have been wholly truthful about my actual opinion of the movie (because I just enjoy messing with you, C.) I do think there are better options for romantic comedies, but understand that there’s something for everyone. I appreciate the opportunity to explore how revisiting a dorky, fan-favorite rom-com can feel different at different points in your life.
It’s also worth mentioning that I was prompted to rewatch the movie, rather than just go off of memory for this, by C. and her husband. C. graced me with stories of the little things her husband does for her, like always having a fresh cup of coffee ready for her in the morning, even when they’re traveling, or preparing her favorite drink. And her husband, R., took the time to talk to me about the movie and how he feels it’s meant to be goofy and often outlandish, and that I shouldn’t take it so seriously. Obviously I don’t know them very well, but I like to read between the lines. I think I mentioned that. Seeing the patience, the constants, and the way they light up when talking to each other or about each other, is Love, Actually, and I’m looking forward to whatever C.’s got to say about what she sees between the lines when she watches it.
