While there are myriad problems with rom-coms in general, it seems that the zenith of their issues was at a certain peak in the mid-00s, when we were all still in denial about “gender roles”–and gender at all, the false concept of masculinity that was, apparently, only a myth that John Wayne and Gary Cooper were paid to perpetuate. As far as forgettable goes, A Lot Like Love is right up there with Laws of Attraction, Win A Date With Tad Hamilton! and (another Ashton Kutcher movie) What Happens in Vegas. At this point only notable because Meghan Markle–excuse me, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex–showcases her shitty filmography with it, A Lot Like Love also stands out because of Emily Friehly’s (Amanda Peet, who tragically lost her place in the spotlight after the 00s) “strike one” mention to Oliver Martin (Kutcher) after first encountering/joining the mile high club with him on a flight from L.A. to New York in 1998 (what the title calls “seven years ago”–ah, if only that were still true).
We aren’t made aware of what, exactly, Oliver’s first strike is (though number two is not being able to play the guitar and number three is being a Cancer) until the third act, when the long blossoming yet suppressed and always ill-timed in emotional attachment relationship is at its apex. Since one is likely not going to view the movie at this point if they haven’t already, let me be the “person” (though the jury is still out on whether or not that’s what I am) to tell you that the first strike was the fact that Oliver didn’t make the initial move in pursuing her. No, it was Emily that had to practically assault him in the airplane bathroom to get him to “come” out of his shell. And, in the years that would follow in their so-called friendship, Emily would continue to be the assertive one, though Oliver had his occasional moments of attempting to express interest (like on New Year’s Eve three years later when, still, Emily takes the action by calling him up to ask him out).
Then there is the requisite “fucked up girl” psychology (after all, the screenplay was written by a man, Colin Patrick Lynch), the one that dictates she’s not allowed to believe that she deserves a “nice guy” like Oliver, which is why he acts incredulous as they roam New York together when she uses the fact that he had sex with her as a reason not to be attracted to him. Confused he asks, “You don’t want to get mixed up with me because I slept with you?”
Not wanting to overdo the extent of his interest too much, Oliver fake surrenders, “I’m not looking for a girlfriend anyway.” It is then we get even more mid-00s in mentality (remember the Bush conservatism, which was realer than whatever extreme form of that we have going on now) as Emily retorts, “And thirdly it turns out you might be gay.” For yes, that would be a huge stigma, one she already made fun of him for before when she told her father she needed to be with Oliver instead of spending time with him because he was waiting on some very important test results.
The shockingly retro nature of 2005 interpreting 1998 also comes when Oliver confesses to Emily that he isn’t looking for a girlfriend because, “I gotta get all my ducks in line.” She chimes in, “You mean ducks in a row?” He glares at her. “Job, career, house, future.” How very Ricky Ricardo (though in Ricky’s case, he was probably doing it all for the visa). Even Emily, for as backward as she is in thinking that a man needs to pursue a woman in order for the relationship to work, does a double take and demands, “And then what, the girl of your dreams will just come and find you?” Oliver maintains that, yes, because of all his wealth and success, he’ll easily have his pick. Again, the throwback mentality that made the rom-com so easy to sell to unquestioning minds triumphs in these lines of dialogue, often at war with the “modern times” in which women are supposed to be “self-sufficient,” yet still can’t help but enjoy themselves when a man pays. On this note, Oliver “jokingly” remarks at the bar Emily has taken him to, “You know what, I don’t mind paying, but I hate the fact that you assume I’m paying. At least make the move, make a reach for it or something.” And in this one admission of annoyance, Oliver cuts to the quick of the problem between men and women in the “straight” game: each just wants to be confined by clear-cut gender roles while also knowing full well that this is both limiting and unhealthy for the purposes of “growth potential”–of which a couple is expected to have if they don’t want to blow one another’s brains out after about two years of monogamy.
In this way, for Emily to have resisted against believing in Oliver’s genuine interest in and love for her over the course of the seven years that they know one another solely because he didn’t make a move on her first (which, as it later turns out, he did) is not only completely ludicrous, but also just the sort of archaic thinking that will forever keep the maternity industry booming. However, the moment she grasps at the straw of the fact that because he took her picture before she even looked at him in the airport that day in 1998, she decides that, yes, Oliver must certainly be the one for her. Jesus Christ Emily, we could have had one less throwaway 00s movie filling our heads with ridiculous ideas about the long road to happily after ever if you had just owned being the one who pursued a man. It’s not that fucking scandalous. And honestly, it’s pretty much necessary at this point if you ever hope to be penetrated seeing as how they’re all so damned indecisive and dainty.
