All you have to do is take a bus or train somewhere in town to realize that people are talking on their cell phones — all around you. They’re talking loud. I think they want you to hear them. And what they’re talking about, blow by blow, conversational detail by detail, are their boring romantic lives: I said this, and then he said that, and then he called me, and then I said yes, and then he came over, but then we started talking, and then . . .
Is there anything more excruciatingly, agonizingly, pathetically boring than other people’s sex lives? Is there anything that showcases the banality of people’s existences — the smallness of aspiration, the petty details of ego, the repetitive cycles of bleak, unrewarding behavior — than these endless accounts? It’s so achingly, blindingly, hopelessly DULL. And that’s when they’re talking about things going well.
A friend of mine, who has been reading this blog, poses the following question: Maybe that’s why the romantic drama, so prevalent in European countries, is a virtual dead genre in the United States. And consequently maybe that’s the reason why female movie stars, who would be the stars of such films, are second class citizens next to male stars, in terms of popularity and box office. American filmmakers don’t make romantic dramas, because American sex lives are boring, boring, boring.
Not inactive. Not uneventful. Not chaste. Just boring, boring, boring.
France does make romantic dramas. That’s its biggest genre, and they have two or three times more women superstars than man superstars. But their romantic dramas aren’t boring, and come to think of it, it’s not just because they’re French. The actual stories are interesting.
Most have just a little extra something, they explore another side of things. They’re not about people who meet in a bar. INTIMATE STRANGERS for example is about a woman (Sandrine Bonnaire, above) who goes to an analyst and pours out her heart to him — except he turns out not to be an analyst. She has the wrong door. She has told her intimate secrets to a lonely tax accountant (Fabrice Luchini), but he doesn’t reveal himself because . . . he falls instantly in love with her. As would anybody standing within six feet of Sandrine Bonnaire. And things go on from there.
I could give example after example. French romantic dramas are interesting because they’re different and revealing in ways that American sex dramas never are.
There are reasons for this — one big reason, I believe, which goes to the heart of what American cinema is about and always has been about, but we’ll save that for another installment. Conside this a pink section essay in utero. More later. In the meantime, if you want to tack on the end, feel free: Why are their romantic dramas so interesting while ours aren’t?
UPDATE: I tacked on American to the title of this entry, because someone pointed out that the picture and the title could be construed to mean that Sandrine Bonnaire’s sex life is boring, which is impossible by definition.