Have we become allergic to or intolerant of romance outside of its own genre? Why are movies kissing romance goodbye?
I assumed that, in a Post-Pandemic world, we’d be more open or acceptant of romantic dynamics and physical touch in media, not aggressively averse.
The lockdown touch starvation was a real thing.
Whether that was quickly forgotten or Gen Z‘s extreme shift toward prudishness regarding physical affection in media, it feels like media is swinging that pendulum too far toward romance aversion.
I get it to a degree; there was nothing more annoying than watching a series that force-fed us unnecessary nudity and unearned sex scenes that did zilch to further the plot.
Premium cable shoehorned those scenes like an earnest salesperson at Footlocker earning extra commission during Back to School time.
But the answer wasn’t to ban romance altogether unless it was a primary theme of a series or movie.
The call for that has been at the root of criticism regarding everything from Emmy-bait series like The Bear, proudly bashing the hint of romance to the most basic character-building moments in acclaimed films.
The general sentiment is an air of superiority and aversion to romance as a subgenre, let alone a genre.
There’s this notion that there’s no place for it, which has become so jarring even the most indifferent can’t help but take notice.
How that has spilled over into everything has surpassed ridiculous, though.
Cutting off the nose to spite the face is a head-scratcher, right?
What do you mean we had to watch two conventionally hot people like Glen Powell and Daisy-Edgar Jones have all the build-up of a romantic couple in the new Twisters, and then they NEVER freaking kiss in the end?
BUT WHY? Is it not the natural payoff for a movie romance?
If that wasn’t maddening enough, we quickly learned that they did kiss, but the scene was deleted from the film.
Even a genius like Steven Spielberg, who thrives off the decades-long devotion and trust of his fans, hates joy, love, or just life’s simple pleasures, dammit.
I would like to speak with him and the director who had the audacity to argue that Glenn Powell, in a wet white T-shirt and a cowboy hat, walking in the rain, was a scene that should’ve been left on the cutting room floor.
As if hot Glenn Powell content wasn’t one of the entire movie’s selling points and among the most memorable scenes. Who HURT you people?
Thank goodness for whoever had the good sense to riot against that one.
There’s all this talk of slow burns and yearning, but do you know what people desire? They want conclusions, hope, satisfaction, and a little damn romance!
Why are we trying to adapt seasons-long TV series expectations to film?
Glenn Powell and the romance were obviously a huge selling point for Twisters for those who love romance, hot people, and that female demographic that studios clamor to land while simultaneously looking down on and disrespecting.
But let me not go on a tangent regarding that last bit.
And then Twisters lures people in who specifically find those aspects of the film appealing, slapping their hand away and laughing when the goods are in sight.
It’s like, after all that foreplay, the film deliberately deprives us of the climactic release for the fun of it.
No one likes a tease, but sure, the romance wasn’t the primary focus of this film.
But what does it say when films with equal parts romance do the same thing?
Any bored person who pressed play rather than allowing their food to get cold after endless scrolling and the part of Boston who wasn’t terrorized or annoyed by the Walhbergs growing up tuned into The Union.
And the film was whatever the heck it was — an up-for-debate “fun” and mindless action-type flick with no actual plot consisting of two recognizable faces people enjoy.
Mark Wahlberg played basically the same character he always does but goofier, and Halle Berry brought back the Storm haircut to deliver a less iconic film than Catwoman.
But they had FUN, and it’s clear that two good friends from the past wanted to do a project together and play around with their chemistry.
And they had that — the chemistry, as former childhood sweethearts with a paper-thin background of getting torn apart because of parental bigotry and small-town/big-world conflict or something.
Honestly, you guys, I still don’t know the plot of this movie. Sorry.
The movie gives us many of the classic rom-com tropes: flirting, lingering glances, a near-death moment that makes the other person scream and anguish over losing the person they love, playful banter, and the classic “Oh, no, there’s only one bed, and we have to share it!”
All that good stuff, right?
And then we get all the way to the end of the film, where Berry’s effortlessly cool, badass guy’s girl Roxanne shows up at Mike’s friend’s Boston Blue Collar wedding and teases… a coat closet makeout session that we never get to actually see.
WHAT. IS. THE. REASON?
How did we get an action romance starring two historic sex symbols, and it turned out to be the most sexless, unsexy thing ever?
It mustered up a solid C in Chemistry, Physics, and Biology, not because the potential wasn’t there, but because the effort wasn’t.
The thought process behind this romantic film with no kiss was this concept of leaving fans wanting more and not giving them the whole meal in one bite.
We didn’t expect them to go the full monty. Why is everyone overthinking this?
They wanted to leave the audience wanting more so that we could get the actual kissing and more of the possible happy ending in a sequel.
But the thought that The Union was even of the caliber of anything that warranted a sequel is laughable in its own right, and that’s before we factor in that it’s on Netflix, the streamer notorious for canceling the things we love, let alone stuff we’re lukewarm about.
No one is holding their breath for a Union sequel, okay? Even if the setup for calling it The (Re)Union is right there.
It’s not even clocking in the top ten of Netflix’s fun romcoms worthy of a sequel, so why not give us the proper conclusion instead of doing the movie version of randomly chopping a book off in the middle and calling it a cliffhanger to extend one book into a trilogy.
If we can’t even seal explicit romances in movies with a kiss when the plot has earned it, what does that say about the state of affairs on screen now?
Are networks, production companies, creators, writers, and more really and literally out of touch?
Where do you stand on this shift toward sanitizing romance? Why do you think movies are saying goodbye to romance? Let’s hear it below!
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