Third Acts
I love rom-coms–most people do. They’re formulaic, but I’m addicted to them. I love scoffing at my screen when miscommunication derails the main couple, and I love the feeling of relief when they move past it.
In my favorite romantic comedies–the Drive Me Crazy or How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days kind–the plot is driven by arguments and sarcasm and this strange need of characters to shoulder slights that eventually eat away at them. Kat Stratfords and Luke Brandons are sharp-tongued, and charmingly so, and at some point nearing the third act, the characters reveal that they are far less tough-skinned than they may appear.
It is in the third act that the characters become vulnerable. They’ll deliver an ultimatum, maybe then running from the school pep rally or fighting in the London roads, and it will always get me teary-eyed.
It is this moment in the third act that really sells me on the rom-com. There’s something so human in the reliability of people to shrug off offense, unconsciously lead with their heart, and want to scream or leave or cry when swept up by confusion. It’s the most powerful moment of the film–the confession, the begging, the leaving.
And at every third act peak, I find myself all teary, ugly-crying as the lead packs her bags.
There’s comfort in knowing that the leads will find their ways back to each other–it’s literally in the poster. But it’s the feeling of getting lost in the story, in the same ways the characters do, that is my favorite. No, I won’t max out my credit card or ruin my sister’s rehearsal dinner, but I understand the feeling of wanting control over a situation just fine.
The kind of recklessness with which characters act is so compelling. They act swiftly, their emotions: giants, clumsily trampling on the lives of those around them. Their passion overwhelms their better judgement, and in moments, they’ve uprooted their own lives out of sheer frustration.
For a beat, they’ve lost everything. And the next, the second-lead is chasing after them.
The spectacularity of the rom-com belongs to the resolution. When else, but in a romantic comedy, are people ever given the grace to mess up–ginormously–and be forgiven completely? I’m certain Mark Darcy is kinder than I, and I am certain that in some way, the romantic comedy is popular because it is escapist. There is reassurance for the viewer–that even in their worst moments, they can be seen and treated wholly. That they deserve forgiveness. Even if they fell in love with their once-comatose husband’s brother.
In my expansive romantic comedy viewing (and in the writing of this blog), I have resolved to be more like the Michael Moskovitzes or William Thackers of the world. I’d like to think that we ultimately all are just girls, standing in front of boys asking them to love us—to say that we are all faulted people, who want forgiveness when we act our worst, who deserve that perfect rom-com third act resolution.
