Taming of the Shrewd

I know it's a feminist cliche to talk about romantic comedies because they're such easy targets. Women are subject to bland heterosexual mating rituals while knowingly (or miserably) navigating the perils of their glamorous publishing job. And let's face it, Hollywood hates career women. A brief glance at the latest rom-coms being plugged will tell you pretty much everything you need to know. In 2009's favorite crowd pleaser, The Proposal, Sandra Bullock's character is firmly made over from a fish-out-of-water, neurotic, socially retarded shrew (as all high-powered female executives are, of course) to a woman in a successful relationship, which, as Hollywood knows, is a lady's greatest success of all. And recently Leap Year follows that formula and transplants it to rural Ireland. (As someone who has spent some time in rural Ireland, I can tell you that elderly women are less keen to offer you motherly advice than you might expect from viewing this film.)

This is a five-minute summary of how a feminist might look at romantic comedies, but as a feminist comedian, the 'comedy' part of these movies interests me even more. What's supposed to be funny are the trials and tribulations of a couple falling in love--the snafus, awkward banter and sexual situations that audiences apparently eat up.

I'm actually more insulted by the so-called jokes than anything else, because the target audience for these films are women, which means that filmmakers presume a lot about what women find funny. And let me tell you, we just love when a lonely single woman sings karaoke and gets the words wrong, or wrecks her Jimmy Choo's in some strategically placed mud, or when a man's premature sexual advances land him in trouble with his new girlfriend.

There's a reason this stuff is mostly forgettable, and its not just the boring 'lessons' about gender relations provided by the ending. It's the fact that the 'comedy' part of romantic comedies is painfully unfunny. Because, as usual, the woman plays straight man to a loveable goofball and prances around in suits that appear to be made of Lycra, but she doesn't actually do much of anything to make us laugh. I like a deadpan delivery as much as the next cynic but this isn't deadpan; it's just the sultry pouting of an embarrassed actress waiting for her paycheck. Hollywood, if you're going to demean woman, can't you at least be funny about it?