An Autopsy of the Rom-Com As We Knew It

Essay

I have wanted to write this one for a while, because I keep having conversations with my friends about why romance in cinema feels so meh these days. It is hard to pick a single reason, but one thing that stands out is simply that the mainstream rom-com format has not changed enough to pick up on some key vibe shifts. The economic landscape is very different, for starters. Owning apartments before thirty, marching confidently towards career success and happy marriages after small, cute stumbles — the staple of a rom-com — are out-of-reach signposts for many young people. Sometimes this is because these are unrealistic goals; these norms are also unappealing to people exhausted by demanding jobs and reeling from the ultra-competitive and rigged logics of dating/matrimonial apps. Younger millennials like me, or on-the-cusp Gen Z 20-somethings (like my sister Lina) feel particularly caught in between wildly different cultural norms of romance and intimacy. Classic rom-coms like Pretty Woman (1990) or Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998) have some strange and problematic conventions. A Cinderella narrative, or reappearances of the Madonna/whore trope do not cut it anymore. To be clear, I enjoyed these movies and still re-watch them, which is also the point of this article — why do these movies with questionable politics feel more enjoyable than recent ones with perfect plots and beautiful leads? Welcome to my TED talk, let’s walk through some reasons.

I’m talking particularly about the rom-com here, and not the traditional romantic drama. As a genre, romantic drama is more common in Indian cinema when compared to the romantic comedy (which I would say is a more recent iteration, a post-liberalisation phenomenon that borrows from Hollywood cinema). There is a lot of overlap between romantic comedy as a genre and what used to be called “chick flicks” — examples of the latter are English-language movies like Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001), Legally Blonde (2001), and Bride Wars (2009), or the Hindi movie Aisha (2010). For very good reasons, no one uses the term chick flick anymore, but I actually find it useful as a term of differentiation because I see the rom-com as a more conventional narrative (with a meet-cute, full-bodied progression of the romance, a climax featuring a misunderstanding or confrontation, and a happy ending) and the chick flick as very similar in many respects BUT with greater focus on the female protagonist’s life — her friends, her job (SO often she’s a journalist, that industry is DEAD people), her inner life basically. The chick flick — to a limited and not very radical extent — viewed romance through a female gaze. This type of movie is almost non-existent now. It has been replaced somewhat by the female friendship comedy (think Bridesmaids [2011], Ocean’s Eight [2018], or The Crew [2024]) which follows different narrative conventions. I like this genre and I am not complaining, but I miss chick flicks. They were doing something interesting by featuring flawed but relatable protagonists, some of whom today would be called “girl failures” — the tired foil to the capitalism-loving girlboss.

The Ace of Hearts, by Hans Buchner

Anyway. There are some great analyses out there of macro reasons for the traditional rom-com’s demise, and some of these points apply to Indian-language cinema as well. A few shifts that stand out are increased reliance on the performance of big-budget events like the superhero movie, and the rise of algorithm-driven streaming giants like Netflix (on which the rom-com is enjoying a rebirth of sorts — I will come to this point later). Together, this has meant that reliable mid-budget movies like rom-coms rarely have theatre releases. In Indian cinema, there are other contributing factors. The post-liberalisation focus on aspirational urban families/couples and their norms has shifted since the 2010s to accommodate fine-grained depictions of rural or small town life; the “dream sequence” romantic song-and-dance, shot in exotic locales, has almost vanished in favour of more realistically integrated music. There is also greater social diversity in Hindi and Malayalam cinema at least (I cannot speak for cinema in other Indian languages, but I’m happy to hear from you all in the comments about what you’re thinking!). In Hindi cinema, big names in romantic cinema from the 90s or 2000s (Akshay Kumar, Hrithik Roshan, or John Abraham) are now almost exclusively doing military propaganda/nationalist films that are apparently successful? Overall, the rom-com is proving a difficult genre, for viewers, producers, and actors.

There are still rom-coms being made, yes. But so many of them are not fun. There are numerous big-budget ventures with extremely good-looking leads — and beautiful locations and expertly choreographed song-and-dance routines — but little to no romance or chemistry between the protagonists. Example time: Befikre (2016) momentarily revived the European vista on Bollywood screens, and created a minor stir by featuring both pre-marital sex and an unforgettable glimpse of Ranveer Singh’s butt (sole fun moment in an otherwise boring movie). It was written and directed by Aditya Chopra, who made Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (1995). How did Chopra, whose production house is associated with some watershed moments in Indian cinema and is basically a byword for romance, go wrong with Befikre? Yash Raj Films is more interested in spy thrillers and action movies these days, and only occasionally puts out rom-coms or romantic dramas. The last nice rom-come they made was Band Baaja Baaraat (2010). I re-watch it often to remind myself how enjoyable good on-screen chemistry can be.

Fun is a rare component of romantic cinema today, despite considerable investments of money and talent. Karan Johar’s most recent directorial venture Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahaani (2023) is a good example — his usual formula of rich, good-looking, upper-caste leads falling in love while traipsing about lovely homes (in Gucci or custom Manish Malhotra) was working up until he ruined the plot by getting Alia Bhatt’s Rani to read sexist politicians the riot act (why) and make feminist advertising jingles for Rocky’s family-owned company. The film was laughably delusional about relationships; instead of a realistic exploration of how difficult families of origin can be, or the challenges of loving someone with very different politics, we got 1) an unrealistic and hasty resolution to crisis and 2) consistent and tedious focus on making everything — every scene, every outfit — perfect, leaving little space for silliness, authenticity, or erotic charge.

Hollywood is experiencing a similar fun drought. Apart from the delightful Set It Up (2018), I can’t think of a recent example of a truly feel-good rom-com. Jennifer Lopez in the dull Shotgun Wedding (2022) or the duller Marry Me (2022), or rom-com queen Julia Roberts in Ticket to Paradise (2022) left audiences cold everywhere (also, wow 2022 sucked). Crazy Rich Asians (2018), billed as a romantic comedy, did really well in the US and on streaming platforms; while I enjoyed the movie and agree that it was a comedy, it was not a romance. The two leads barely spend any time together on-screen, and seem more like acquaintances rather than long term-romantic partners. What happened to chemistry? What happened to setting unrealistic standards for romantic partners and meet cutes?

Potential underlying reasons:

Value Clash: As I mentioned above, audiences are questioning some key tropes and conventions in romantic cinema. Partly, such criticism and conversation is more visible simply because of social media, but they also reflect a divestment from earlier texts. An example of this conflict is how younger people are re-reading milestone texts of the 2000s like Sex and the City (SATC; 1998-2004) and The Devil Wears Prada (2006). This article captures how many people watched SATC as teenagers, but found themselves hating Carrie Bradshaw (one of the four women that the show is based on) when they re-watched the show as adults. Her dynamic with Mr. Big — the WASP-y finance bro she ends up with — is endlessly discussed as toxic today. With The Devil Wears Prada, new audiences find themselves more sympathetic of Andy’s (played by Anna Hathaway) ambition. They blame her friends and partner for making Andy feel bad for enjoying aspects of her new job that the friends/partner think are frivolous or eat into her time with them. Andy’s boyfriend Nate (the chef with pretty curls) is hailed as the “true villain” from the movie (as opposed to Meryl Streep’s Miranda Priestly). These are two great examples that stand out to me, not just because they show the internet’s obsession with minutely classifying and investigating romantic/sexual behaviours and attitudes (something for another article), but also because they demonstrate evolving expectations from relationships and partners. Landmark Indian cinema is also being put through some re-reading.

Such conversation comes from a minority of vocal voices on the internet and public culture and obviously does not necessarily reflect actual changes in relationship/matrimonial norms, but is still an important factor in our disenchantment with romantic comedy as a genre. I think this is a contributing element to how risk-averse filmmakers have become when it comes to producing cinema/TV.

Cynical cinema: There is a lot of cynical cinema that excoriates or plays with romantic comedy tropes. This kind of comedy is often clearly invested in heteronormative romance, but focuses on bad faith readings of relationships. Anything by Hindi filmmaker Luv Ranjan is a good example. His movies often feature heroic bachelors who are always running into conniving women who want their money (big lol because these are salaried men and not the owners of some tucked-away steel mine) or want to con them into marriage (it is never really explained what exactly makes these men so desirable). Obviously this is a very sexist narrative, but I find it interesting as an example of what I call the “anti rom-com”. These films capture some real-world cynicism about marriage (fair) and re-direct it towards the opposite gender (unfair) instead of examining more structural faults that lead to the protagonists’ despair or loneliness.

Something similar is happening in Malayalam cinema, which in the last ten years has produced a whole bunch of relationship/wedding comedies — films that critique wedding culture (horoscope readings, or beauty conventions for brides and grooms) and skewed marriage norms. Jaya Jaya Jaya Jaya Hey (2022) is a terrific recent example of an anti rom-com; it begins at the point where most rom-coms end i.e. marriage, and goes on to deliver a blistering and darkly comic take on the institution. Sara’s (2021) is another good example; the female protagonist falls in love, and — despite her clearly expressed reluctance — is coaxed into marriage with her partner by her family. The movie deals with her decision to stay childfree. The anti rom-com flips vital tropes or conventions from the romantic comedy and offers alternative takes on relationship or marriage norms through the vehicle of comedy. This kind of weary/critical cinema is now more common on-screen than a traditional romantic comedy, which speaks to larger cultural reckonings with marriage and changing gender roles.

Re-direction: This is a pet theory of mine. I think the problem in general is not a lack of erotic/romantic energy on-screen, but a re-direction of this crucial element towards other avenues. In Indian cinema, this plays out as aggressive displays and narratives about nationalism, war, the military, or anti-colonialism. I want to use romantic dramas also as examples to drive home my point. Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas (2002) or Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999) are straightforward, gorgeous romantic dramas — every scene is dripping with emotion, and the leads are absolutely absorbed in each other. But Padmaavat (2018) is a very different kettle of fish. The costumes and sets continue to be beautiful and compelling, but the romance has been re-directed. The noble Ratan Singh (played by a wooden Shahid Kapoor) is boring. Padmavati (played by Deepika Padukone) is equally devoid of passion up until the end, when she inspires a bunch of women and children to immolate themselves in a communal pyre. Cute. Ranveer Singh’s Alauddin Khilji is the only person with any feelings. He’s angry and unhinged and is definitely having sex, which is more than I can say for the other two leads. A lot of energy and honest emotion is directed towards defeating Khilji, and towards masculine displays of aggression or camaraderie. In this type of film, there are often extended scenes of fighting, torture, or sexual violence that are included in a manner that is deliberate and indulgent. This is what I mean by re-direction (anyone who has watched Rajamouli’s RRR will know what I mean).

It’s not just Bhansali. Everywhere we are seeing lust, angst, and romance on-screen anywhere but between the leads. Early rom-com fave Hrithik Roshan’s Fighter (2024) has a whole song sequence which is basically shots of a shirtless Roshan interspersed with shots of fighter jets (please watch the video for confirmation). Roshan admires his own abs in the mirror. I mean, no one can blame him, BUT my point is that all this sexy music and effort is propping up painstakingly sculpted bodies and war, not romance or flirtation. Roshan’s dynamic with his “love interest” (Deepika Padukone again) is non-existent. There are a lot of passionate speeches and grand gestures, again in service of anti-Pakistan rhetoric and military aggression. Okay Liza, this is a war movie, what did you expect you might ask? There are only war movies! There is nothing else. Even the period drama, a guaranteed instance of enjoyable and lushly romantic cinema has become a torrid vehicle for Islamophobia. Re-direction has meant fewer rom-coms and more anxiety-ridden cinema.

Streaming Platforms: Rom-coms have proliferated on streaming platforms, particularly on Netflix. But a surprisingly large number of them are unwatchable. By unwatchable I don’t mean that people aren’t watching these movies, but that they are very very forgettable. Sometimes these films seem so artificial and strange that my friends and I call them Chat-GPT generated. Examples: movies like A Family Affair (2024) or Anyone But You (2023), with famous cast members and some aggressively insipid dialogue. Then there’s what Scott Maslow calls the “Netflix Christmas Rom-Com Cinematic Universe”, which is a host of eerily alike movies that are released around the holiday season, all featuring attractive white people (or very light-skinned actors of colour) who are always rejuvenating small town businesses or casually running into royals.

Streaming websites don’t have a paucity of rom-coms; in fact, they are stuffing our screens with tons of almost identical pabulum as a stand-in for cinema, and this seems to have eradicated original or inventive scripts. Such movies focus on funny meet-cutes and witty banter, or on executing tropes (like enemies-to-lovers or fake dating set-ups). Moments of genuine connection, confrontation, or friction — common in real-life relationship-building — are so rare. These new films are “pseudomovies, designed to be played but not watched”. Other commentators have noted how streaming platforms might be prioritising scripts that factor in a viewer’s phone usage, thus producing “second screen” movies that function as a backdrop to finishing errands or scrolling on the phone. I’ve definitely been guilty of approaching movies like this — Netflix makes it so easy to consume cinema as opposed to truly experiencing it. This is why I enjoy watching even bad films in an actual movie hall, because I’m absolutely tethered to the screen and I watch films in their entirety, even if only to redeem the money I paid for a ticket.

I do want to bring up examples of streaming-only rom-coms that I did enjoy. Nobody Wants This (2024), which was released on Netflix, was excellent. It was warm, funny, and human. The stakes are compelling, and there is lots of chemistry between the leads. The characters sound like real people, there is no weird misunderstanding or angst, everyone is grown-up and facing life as they should. My friend Chandra felt that the male lead — hot rabbi played by Adam Brody — was a bit too perfect, which is fair because he was unusually emotionally acute and just so nice. My female friends and I found this particular aspect much more enjoyable because indulging our wishful thinking is fine and healthy. There is also the occasional good teen rom-com, like To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018). I know people who absolutely swear by Korean romantic comedies and dramas, but I haven’t watched any so cannot really comment here with any authority. K-dramas and comedies do seem very earnest however, which is something millennials especially seem to crave, after decades spent on the ironic and ephemeral internet of our formative years.

(My sister says the fact that I have not mentioned Heartstopper [2022] in the essay is a gross act of negligence on my part. I haven’t watched it, but like All the Boys, it seems to be doing some necessary corrective work by centering gay/non-white leads and I’m all for it.)

Some of the things I bring up above reflect larger trends in cinema overall. I also see similar things happening in fiction — the vanishing of “chick lit” in favour of trope-heavy rom-coms that are formulaic and feel churned out. At the same time, new genres — romantasy, new adult fiction — are coming up from the ashes of traditional romance, which I think is interesting and generative. The efflorescence of YA literature (which is finding many older readers) and cinema/TV also points to new pathways where romance is being platformed in entertaining and compelling ways. There is more space in these new texts for non-white, queer, and disabled characters, which is making such material more accessible and personal for viewers and readers. So maybe it is a good thing that the rom-com is dead. Lina and I continue to be believers though; we are making plans to watch Bridget Jones 4 as I write this.