One of the most memorable sequences in Groundhog Day is the Groundhog Festival Banquet. Phil is the star of the evening. It is a cathartic sequence in which he relishes the hard-earned fruits of his transformation. He is artist, scientist, benefactor. He is cool, he is accomplished, he is eligible.
There is a bachelor auction. Phil, unavoidably, is up on stage. The women go nuts over him and the bids keep rising. Rita bids all she has in her account and gets Phil. As she extends her hand to take his, we cannot help thinking of expressions like “to lend someone a hand” and “a helping hand”.
The next morning (yes, finally, there is a next morning), as they lie in bed together, she jokes: “I bought you. I own you.” In subtext, we read: I bought you out. Love bought you out. Love delivered you and set you free.
Each romantic comedy has a redemption plot at its core. Love redeems. This does not mean that a romantic comedy hero or heroine must have the moral arc of Oskar Schindler for the story to qualify as a redemption plot. Nor does the hero’s predicament have to be in the range of a time loop for the story resolution to deserve the label of “redemption”. There are as many ways to save a human being as there are lost souls out there. Thereof springs the impressive gamut of romantic comedy themes, plots, and twists.
In many romantic comedies the redemption plot is summarized in one memorable line. When the writing gives off sparks, audiences take these lines with them when they leave the theater, and treasure them forever.
In the final scene of Pretty Woman, the acrophobic Edward (Richard Gere) is curious to find out what happens after the knight on a white horse saves the princess. “She saves him right back,” Vivian (Julia Roberts) replies without hesitation. Does a gorgeous millionaire need saving? From what? From his acrophobia? Not exactly.
In the context (and subtext) of Pretty Woman, the acrophobia is just a symbol, a visual tool that stands for Edward’s less visible and far more serious problem: his entrapment in a loop of mistrust and vengefulness. In a formulaic payoff between the crisis (climax) and the resolution of the plot, we see Edward making an attempt to approach and glance over his balcony parapet. This is an action symbolic of his first step towards a more substantial transformation. Furthermore, his acrophobia renders him vulnerable and we know that audiences have an affinity for romantic heroes with a chink in their armor.
“You make me want to be a better man,” declares the insufferable Melvin (Jack Nicholson) to a frustrated Carol (Helen Hunt), who then proceeds to fall for him, date him, hate him, dump him, take him back, accept, love, and save him. You complete me” is the line that haunts and subsequently redeems the protagonists’ marriage in Jerry Maguire. At the beginning of the movie, it is the sweet, idealistic Dorothy (Ren�e Zellweger) that wistfully whispers it (plant). At the climax of the movie, it is the “new” Jerry (Tom Cruise) that shouts it (payoff). “I was a better man with you, as a woman, than I ever was with a woman, as a man” states the enlightened Michael (Dustin Hoffman) to his Julie (Jessica Lange), who had only known him and loved him as Dorothy Michaels.
In other scripts the redemption theme is not verbally explicit. Paul (Robert Redford) has to walk Barefoot in the Park (and love it) before he and his wife Corie (Jane Fonda) can come to terms with their personality differences and take mutual steps towards accepting each other as they are. In the final scene of Forget Paris, Mickey (Billy Crystal) orders veal piccata instead of his (obsessively) usual veal parmigiana. Can veal piccata save a relationship? In and by itself probably not, but openness and reciprocity can go a long way towards nurturing a marriage. When Paula (Marsha Mason) clasps her lover’s guitar in a downpour as she bids him goodbye, what she is actually holding onto is the liberating conviction that, unlike all the others, he is coming back. This time she is not afraid to stay behind. What is more, she chooses to stay behind because she is not driven by insecurity anymore.
The postulation that each romantic comedy is an inventive (we hope) variation on the redemption theme rests on three basic prerequisites:
a. Human beings are flawed and incomplete.
b. The right companion can heal and complete us.
c. There is no accounting for taste.
In screenwriting terms, this translates into the writer’s ability to:
a. Create realistic protagonists with original and meaningful flaws, and do it subtly.
b. Utilize subtext, imagery, and language to depict believable character arcs that demonstrate why the two romantic leads are meant for each other.
c. Be bold.
The 1952 film Pat and Mike, directed by George Cukor and starring Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, makes apt use of language and characterization to draw the course of two idiosyncratic lovers towards true partnership. It is a traditional “triangle story” with a heroine who is both tough and vulnerable; a hero who may not always be a stickler for legitimate business, but has a heart of gold; and a Antagonist who is appropriately smarmy and detestable.
Pat (Hepburn) teaches Physical Education in college. She is energetic and self-assured, an ace at her job… except when her fianc� Collier (William Ching) is around. Then she turns from feisty to flummoxed, frazzled, and frustrated. It does not take long to figure out why. On their way to an important golf game, Collier is constantly patronizing Pat: “Just watch me. I’ll tell you what to do and then let’s hope you can do it.” His lack of faith undermines her self-esteem. Predictably enough, she blows her golf game and garners even more disapproval and condescension.
Pat is very much aware of the problem. In a rapid-fire exchange with her friend Charlie, she paints the big picture with a spirited combination of wordplay and economy:
Charlie: You’re great.
Pat: I must be.
Charlie: A natural.
Pat: Fairly seldom.
Charlie: What’s your handicap?
Pat: My fella.
The bottom line is: She cannot be herself around Collier. Not only does he not complete her, but he also hinders her from fulfilling her potential. “You’re just overwrought,” he rationalizes. “And you’re just overpowering,” she retorts.
Pat enters the Women’s Golf National. She meets Mike (Tracy), a sports manager. He promises her big bucks if she flubs her game. She turns him down, but loses all the same… because of Collier. This is the last straw. She refuses to be Collier’s “little woman” and decides to go pro. In the honorable tradition of romantic comedy predictability, she hires Mike as her manager.
Mike is just the guy to get Pat “unfrazzled.” He may be the typical macho control freak, but, although he does not say so in so many words, he admires and respects her as a person and an athlete. He is dependable and supportive and believes in shared responsibility: 5-0, 5-0 is his motto. Pat begins to fall for him.
The secondary character of boxer Davie Hucko (Aldo Ray) provides comic relief as well as the plant for the movie’s climactic payoff.
Mike is Davie’s manager and from time to time he uses a mantra-like routine to psych him up, what he calls “the three big questions”:
Mike: Who made you?
Davie: You, Mike.
Mike: Who owns the biggest piece of you?
Davie: You.
Mike: What will happen if I drop you?
Davie: I’ll go down the drain.
Mike: And?
Davie: And stay there.
Two incidents mark turning points in the development of the romance.
The first signals Mike’s decision to go legit, when he turns down the gang that wants to fix Pat’s game. Surprisingly, it is Pat who appears more flexible and offers to do whatever it takes to get Mike out of trouble. Mike, however, is not going back and by affirming his resolution, he acknowledges Pat’s positive influence on him: “I caught something from you and it’s good. I like it. But don’t you catch nothin’ from me, ’cause I ain’t got nothin’ good to catch.” Pat is now officially under his skin.
The second turning point involves a comic scene in which Pat overpowers the two gang members that attempt to beat up Mike. Now it is Mike’s turn to feel frazzled. His world has been turned upside down, along with his perception of gender roles. What for Pat is a natural way of looking out for her man, in Mike’s book it bears menacing undertones of loss of control and masculinity. He wants “a ‘he’ to be a ‘he’ and a ‘she’ to be a ‘she’ “.
This crisis point in the romance is resolved by Mike’s intervention when Pat has trouble fending off an irate Collier. As soon as the Antagonist figure is disposed of, Pat and Mike put their stamp of individuality on the inevitable love scene. The woman who can take on two gangsters without batting an eyelash, cannot, will not be left alone. “I need someone to look after me,” she pleads. Mike is the right person to do that because he will take care of her without smothering her. She knows it and, deep down, he knows it, too.
Now is the time to let the defenses down and let romance in. Mike seems to reel inwardly with the impact of this new life that is about to begin: “I can’t handle this in my head. It rocks me.” True to character, however, he instantly regains composure: “OK, kid. You got yourself a deal.” Their love is sealed with a handshake.
The final sequence of the movie follows Pat during a golf game. In a sassy reversal of roles, she begins to ask Mike “the three big questions”.
Pat: Who made you?
Mike: You did.
Pat: Who owns the biggest piece of you?
Mike: You do.
One final shot. She looks up. Collier is among the spectators, chewing on a cigarette, the same old frown of doom on his face.
Pat panics. Then she looks around, sees Mike. His face registers calm confidence. He winks at her in playful camaraderie. He knows she can do it, and so long as he knows, so does she.
She putts the ball straight into the hole.
Pat: What would happen if I ever dropped you?
Mike: I’d go down the drain.
Pat: And?
Mike: And take you right down with me, Shorty.
It’s a cinch. They are equals and they are partners in the fullest sense of the word. They complete each other. Their lives are forever interlocked.
The leads of a more recent romantic comedy also find their lives interlocked, but not by choice. In One Fine Day (1996), architect Melanie (Michelle Pfeiffer) and newspaper columnist Jack (George Clooney) find themselves stuck with their kids, with each other, and with each other’s cell phones throughout a frantic day, where everything that could possibly go wrong, does. And then some.
Jack and Melanie meet and take an almost instant dislike to each other. In the realm of romantic comedy, their mutual dislike is a dead giveaway that they will end up liking each other, or, at the very least, disliking each other way less. We expect them to eventually “kiss and make up” with the same certainty that we anticipate the destruction of Melanie’s architectural model the moment we set eyes on it.
As a first line of defense against the ordinary, the movie takes the meet-lose-get formula and turns it into a meet > cannot-shake-off-my-back > (probably) get pattern. Then it fits this pattern into a 12-hour time frame, as presaged in the title. And then it squeezes in several minor time frames (the presentation deadline, the press conference deadline, the soccer game deadline) that, in turn, spawn more time frames of their own, as they shift under the pressure of impending calamity (deadline for getting the model fixed, for dropping the kids off at the daycare center, for picking them up, for locating Mrs. Lieberman, for meeting clients for a drink, etc., etc.). As a result, we get a burgeoning romance on the move, an action movie that has pixie dust sprinkled all over it. There is minimal exposition and whatever talking-head scenes there are, we welcome because we need to catch our breath after all this running about.
The main characters are crafted with believability rather than originality. Their differences set them apart, but they also bring them together. Melanie is responsible, punctual, organized, attentive to detail, and self-sufficient — in the extreme. Jack has a more… relaxed understanding of deadlines and responsibility — in the extreme. As they overcome the customary barrier of first impressions, they gradually realize that what is a flaw in one, can be a cure to the other. Melanie could use a helping hand, if she would only learn how to ask for it. Jack could pick up some pointers about being a responsible parent, if he would only listen.
The first instance of emotional and physical rapprochement between the two leads occurs near the end of their ordeal. As Melanie, Jack, and the kids run across the city to make it to the soccer game in time, all of a sudden they find themselves in front of a gigantic puddle. The kids keep running through the puddle without giving it a thought. Jack takes a couple of steps, but Melanie hesitates. She is in her office uniform and high heels. Jack notices, goes up to her, and literally sweeps her off her feet. With a coyly protesting Melanie in his arms, and very much to the delight of the children, Jack stomps and dances in the puddle, true to that philosophical staple of childhood: “the wetter the better”.
Corny? Conceivably. What a cute little metaphor, nonetheless, for the liberating power of falling in love. Jack carries Melanie over the puddle, over a metaphorical threshold and into a new life, where having fun is a really good thing. What is more, she lets him. The superwoman who would frown on any male that would dare to offer a helping hand, actually enjoys being carried over a hurdle. And Jack bears the physical burden of her body gladly, as a foreshadowing of his new-found acceptance of the less pleasurable burden of responsibility. (Needless to say, an audience reserves the right to be a killjoy and question Melanie’s choice not to walk around the puddle, which after all does not look all that gigantic in the long shot that wraps up the scene.)
In the final scene, a squabble serves as a prelude to their first kiss. Melanie and Jack are far from perfect and they know it. As the movie ends with a shot of them sleeping on the couch with the familiarity of a married couple, we can tell that there is hope. The redemption plot in One Fine Day leans towards the open-ended. The protagonists have accepted the challenge of love and have taken the first step, but there is still a long way to go.
