We are only as progressive as the romantic comedies we watch

And we all still want to shag our priests

There is no genre more conservative than the romantic comedy. Built into the entire premise is ‘happily ever after’ and a certain amount of heteronormativity. You don’t get more patriarchal than a Shakespearean comedy final scene - all women silenced, everyone married off, curtain call. Jane Austen's novels end with a sorting out of intentions and declarations of nuptials. All is right with the world. Beauty and The Beast starts with kidnapping, then a hostage situation, Stockholm syndrome, and marriage. Goodnight kids.

If that’s the direction romantic comedies are perpetually bound toward, then narrative tension must come from a subversion of heteronormativity. In Shakespeare, it’s usually gender - girls dress up as boys, who dress up as girls, etc. In Austen, it’s usually a disruption in concepts of wealth and class. All of that mess is figured out by the end.

Most recently, two famed romantic comedies do not end happily. One Day and Fleabag have a sudden, heart-wrenching twist toward tragedy in their final beats. This twist complicates their narratives, even when the basic machinations of the narrative are nothing new.

One Day in particular, which briefly set fire to every Gen Z student I taught, relies on a troupe I loathe: the woman refusing to advance the relationship because of their lack of self-belief. ‘He’s just too good for me’ is so infuriatingly dull, even though I fear it is dispairingly realistic for many female viewers.

It’s the inherent misogyny of the troupe that irks me. For plots where the gender is swapped - the man has low self-esteem - I consider it charming. Some adaptations hint at this in Mr. Darcy and Pride and Prejudice. Paul Mescal plays it beautifully in Normal People. Hugh Grant in Notting Hill takes first prize, though. A humble bookstore owner meets a movie star. The film is damp with sentiment, but Jesus Christ, every time I watch that movie, it works on me.

In One Day’s defence, the obstacles of low self-esteem do not seem to draw in my Gen Z students. Instead, it’s the confusing difference between friendship and romance, particularly in relationships that go on for years. I’d be more interested in that question with some element of queerness (something that 2022 Bros attempts to do). But this hints at my politics - I’m a bi guy who’s always been surrounded by female best friends. The idea of men and women being friends without sex isn’t fascinating to me.

That is, unless it is a delicious nostalgia trip like When Harry Met Sally. New York. Harry Connick Jr. soundtrack. Knitwear. That film is intoxicating. The film's entire premise: can a man and woman be friends? It’s the least exciting thing about it when you watch it in 2024. But nostalgia, like Notting Hill and Love Actually, is a part of the package. Heteronormativity is permissible when placed in the heterosexual context.

What then of Nobody Wants This, the new Netflix-produced outfit? The lovers are adults, feet firmly planted in 2024, and progressive in politics. The series is refreshing in how it handles its characters negotiating the usual romantic comedy troupes. These two characters show some self-awareness and emotional maturity. Mistaken identity and secrets never overstay their welcome.

But there’s no Nobody Wants This without Fleabag Season 2, the best romantic comedy of the last decade. Andrew Scott is a ‘Hot Priest’, unavailable because he is ‘too good’ or ‘too pure’. He’s a priest, but he’s a cool priest. His lover-to-be is depraved and over-sexualised. The gender roles of the traditional romantic comedy are reversed.

Nobody Wants This follows a similar trap. The male partner is a rabbi. But, again, the show insists, he’s a cool rabbi. He smokes pot and makes dirty jokes. But goddam it, if his moral purity isn’t unshakeable.

More than anything, this is the most significant change for romantic comedies in centuries. The male object of affection is conservative. His main obstacle is not one of emotional immaturity or hedonistic temptation (any Seth Rogen film), or being drawn to the ‘wrong sort of girl’ (Mr. Darcy, Pretty Woman). His central conflict is an ethical one.

I argue that this is the new norm for male protagonists: Fleabag, One Day, Normal People and Nobody Want This all play with this idea. For two of them, it’s an explicit religious conflict. For the other two (Normal People and One Day), the male hero worries about corrupting his paramour with the darker sides of his identity (his addictions, his self-worth, and his family). Christian Grey does this a little bit as well, as do most of the male heroes in Sex Education.

Why is this hot? It allows women to be more empowered. In Nobody Wants This, Bell plays a confident, single woman with a sexuality podcast. While darker, Phoebe Waller-Bridge is much the same in Fleabag. The men, meanwhile, are permitted to be emotionally intelligent, gentle, and forbidden. Their desire is never in question - yes, they desperately want to shag you; it’s just their God in the way. Their God is representative of their values - they know who they are and are confident in that identity. That confidence is hot.

There’s arguments against that idea. Is Mr Darcy all that different? Is The Beast (as in, the hot wolf from The Beauty and the Beast)? Is Romeo or any of the other patriarchs from Shakespeare? They, too, are confident in their values; they usually communicate them with substantially less charisma.

I know this much: when the genre is handled well and when the co-stars are cast just right, it’s one of the most intoxicating experiences I can have as an audience member. Given the complexity of gender values in 2024, and the ensuing conservatism of identity politics for Gen Z, it’s amazing any film or series can make it past the societal landmines that lie in wait for the romance plot.

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My last post about culture included discussions on the Australian voice. You can find that here.