My Capstone: The Graphic

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Why I Love Ever After

It doesn't take much to make me love a movie. All I ask is the barest sketch of a plot, a couple of main characters that I like to look at, and--I admit it--some kind of romantic tension. This isn't to say that there aren't movies I enjoy that don't fit this formula (isn't, aren't, don't...right). On the contrary--in order to pass into the realm of truly beloved, a movie needs a lot more than that. But I freely admit that my movie shelf is heavily stacked with the five-dollar rom-coms that I pick up at Target when I'm feeling angry, annoyed, or overwhelmed by life. Yes, I do own You've Got Mail, Two Weeks Notice, and Catch and Release. Got a problem with that?

Even within the much-maligned genre, there are gradations. Poorly written romantic comedies thrive on the heat between their main characters; the story lives not in the triteness of the lines but in its invocation of something to which we can all relate. Call it what you want--romance, passion, porno for prudes, whatever. It's the baseline that all even mildly successful films in the genre must meet. Without that, you wind up with a Gigli or a Must Love Dogs.

The better films of the genre evoke something more specific--your Say Anythings, your Bull Durhams (yes, it counts), your Bend it Like Beckhams. You say to yourself--I was a geek in high school too! I also love baseball! I've know what it is to struggle against unfair expectations! There's something going on in all of these films that goes beyond a simple boy-meets-girl narrative. Not much--let's not get too optimistic. But they're comforting as well as passionate. They appeal to the intellect as well as the heart.

Devoted student of the genre that I am, I can't help but be disheartened by it. Surprise! The romance-craving feminist feels conflicted about craving romance! It's hell to have layers. I mean, let's be clear--the last thing I want from life is for some knight in shining armor to get down on one knee and condemn me to a life of subscribing to traditional gender roles. At the same time, it's nice when the one I love tells me I look pretty (I assume--not that mine would ever do something so pedestrian) or does something to show he cares. But too many of these movies that I adore for making my heart twitch are ruined because they make my head hurt. Oh please, Mr. Male, make it all better! Thinking makes my sexy shrivel up and die--just ask Dick Armey.

These are hardly new complaints. But Ever After--a silly modernization of Cinderella with Drew Barrymore that includes Leonardo da Vinci, for some reason--is the kind of Cinderella I can get behind. Why? The Prince falls for Cinderella not because she dances like an angel, but because she quotes Sir Thomas More. Their first date? A freaking library--a.k.a. Heaven on Earth. She saves him from his arrogance and apathy just as he saves her from the Wicked Stepmother (and somehow, Gypsies are involved). She can make it on her own just fine, thank you, as evidenced by her escape from the villainous clutches of Pierre LePew. She winds up with the Prince because she chooses to wind up with him.

There are flaws; of course there are flaws. It's a movie, not a political commentary. It's made for entertainment, not to represent the Third Wave. So I accept the flaws. And I aspire to be that kind of Cinderella.