Being that it’s no great leap to make the connection between Kat Coiro’s Marry Me and Roger Michell’s Notting Hill, it bears remarking upon the very distinct difference between being famous in the 1990s versus “famous” in the 2020s. While the former decade still possessed what were, more than ever through the lens of the present, visible signs of Old Hollywood glamor and finesse, the current one has no qualms about showing us that celebrities run on social media synergy via endorsement deals and other assorted self-debasement through shilling.
Kat Valdez (Jennifer Lopez) is just one such celebrity. And even though she’s a pop star, therefore several tiers above something like a “TikTok star,” she’s still very blatant—as J. Lo herself is—about the reliance upon brands for the financial support of her lifestyle. And obviously, Coach is heavily featured throughout Marry Me due to Lopez’s real-life contract with the “luxury” company (even if this is the kind of brand seen as “decadent” by Midwestern housewives).
More than making the audience dream of the “glamorous life,” however, it ultimately makes one think of how much more genuinely glamorous it all was during Anna Scott’s (Julia Roberts) filmic reign. For, yes, she might have been in the business during Harvey Weinstein’s heyday, but she was also a star during Johnny Depp’s, River Phoenix’s and Leonardo DiCaprio’s heyday. Fellow silver screen titans that never had to lower themselves to a medium like social media—not only because it didn’t yet exist, but because to do so for a “true Hollywood star” at that time would be unthinkable. Even perfume ads with bona fide stars were something to be balked at until the early 00s, after all. And, speaking of cheesy perfume ads, we all know Christian Dior deeply regrets getting into bed with Depp for the Sauvage campaign that will never die because they funneled far too much money into the photoshoot to ever bother pulling them (especially from billboards and other assorted signage throughout Paris).
In any case, the point is, Anna Scott would definitely never feel obliged to shill a Vitamix like Kat so freely does. And in front of her new “man on the street” husband, to boot. Some first impression. No sense of shame, only a sense of how much her bank account is filling up as she does it. And while the Notting Hill tagline asks, “Can the most famous film star in the world fall for the man on the street?,” Marry Me instead prefers to declare, “You’ll do for this publicity stunt” (because, yes, the movie actually appears to be missing the most important staple of any instant classic rom-com: a tagline). But maybe, what it should be asking, from the perspective of an “average Joe” who wishes for a life as “off the grid” as can be possible in this modern era, is: “Can the man on the street fall for a celebrity whose personality is required to be a construct almost 24/7?” Because, even though it didn’t seem like it in the moment, fame in the 90s was infinitely more private and controlled in such a way as to allow for a famous person to let their hair down at least half the time when they weren’t being snapped by paparazzi (much tamer before the 00s came along, and TMZ with it) or giving carefully-curated interviews for news channels or at press junkets (another, lesser appreciated Julia Roberts movie, America’s Sweethearts, in fact, centers its plot entirely around a press junket). Oh, and let us not discount the 90s as being pre-meme culture, meaning that a celebrity was free to make facial expressions and wear varying “bombastic” ensembles without risk of becoming a mockery in meme form.
Nonetheless, as Kat’s “new man,” a run-of-the-mill math teacher named Charlie Gilbert (Owen Wilson), is thrust head-first (no sexual innuendo at all intended, because Wilson is pretty sexless as a leading man) into the pop star’s world, he has just as many “fish out of water” moments as William Thacker (Hugh Grant) in Notting Hill. And yet, at the bare minimum, Will possesses the 90s luxury of never having to worry about all of his awkward moments and social grace faux pas being documented and uploaded to the internet. Something Charlie must endure amid his incredulity over how Kat can lead her life this way. This much is exemplified when her full-time videographer comes with her to his apartment and Charlie inquires, “Is everything you do filmed?” She replies, unaffected, “Banked.” “Banked?” She confirms, “For my channel. Little mini episodes of life.” Charlie asks, “Can we skip an episode?” But no, the truth is, as a “mid-ish” twenty-first century celebrity, there is no skipping any potential documented moment that might later be repurposed into “content.” Just ask the Kardashian-Jenner cabal—or any token boyfriend/husband that has ever gained entry into the fold (no vagina allusion meant).
Conversely, Will is permitted many “skipped episodes” of Anna’s famous life. And Anna herself ought to have been grateful that all she had to contend with were tabloid photos. Because that’s far easier than unwanted content swirling on the internet forever. Whereas we all know print items become nothing more than the next day’s fish and chips holder.
But Anna doesn’t see it that way when the press is tipped off to her hiding out at Will’s abode after nude photos from her pre-fame days surface (how very Madonna), along with footage that makes it look like a porno (as Anna describes it). And as she rages through his house about how he betrayed her (even though it was his roommate who divulged her location to outsiders), he tries to remind her, “Seriously, in the huge sweep things, this stuff doesn’t matter.” Yet telling something like this to a celebrity simply can’t compute. Their entire world is built around preserving what small amount of privacy they can get at all costs. Any chance to avoid a personal violation is a daily struggle and triumph.
As for the predictable breakups that come in both movies, each man must suffer more for his famous ex’s lack of privacy as each one is forced to encounter unwanted reminders of that ex everywhere. Whether it’s ads for Anna’s new (and rather shitty-looking) movie, Helix, or a Guess ad featuring Kat in it (because, again, J. Lo has to endorse the brands that pay her at every opportunity), there is no escaping the woman that broke his heart. And, in this sense, the private citizen suffers far more than the person with the public image. At the same time, because going out into the world and/or lifting one’s head from their phone or other assorted screen is so rare in the 2020s, one gets the notion that, if Charlie were more “modern,” he could better tune out any reminders of Kat (complete with adjusting his proverbial algorithm). And that way, unlike Will, he wouldn’t also be thinking the same thing when he tells Anna, “My relatively inexperienced heart would, I fear, not recover if it was once again cast aside, as I would absolutely expect to be—uh, there are just too many pictures of you, too many films. You know, you’d go and I’d be well-buggered basically.” A precise reference to being unable to avoid the advertising blitzkrieg of London in the 90s (complete with dated ads in the Notting Hill neighborhood that showcase then-new music from Mighty Mighty Bosstones, B*Witched and Saint Etienne).
Will further drives home the point between their too-glaring differences when he emphasizes, “I live in Notting Hill, you live in Beverly Hills. Everyone in the world knows who you are, my mother has trouble remembering my name.” It smacks of Charlie giving his own kiss-off speech to Kat at her Grammys after-party when he says, “I don’t fit, and I think that’s objectively pretty true… If I’m being honest with myself, I really came down here just to say… I don’t think this works.” It’s definitely not as eloquent as what Will said, but as Idiocracy (starring another Wilson brother) predicted, the passage of time has made people dumber. To that end, Kat is slow on the uptake, perhaps unaccustomed to being rejected by a commoner, thus clarifying, “Are you breaking up with me?” Uh yeah, girl. It’s pretty obvious.
Instead of assuring him like Anna does, however, she allows herself to be called onto the stage with her would-be husband, Bastian (Maluma). Anna, in contrast to what she was freaking out about earlier in the movie re: her tabloid photos, instead reminds Will, “The fame thing isn’t really real, you know?” Yes, that’s exactly what he was saying to her before, but anyway… She then delivers the seminal line of Notting Hill: “And don’t forget, I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” Let’s just say it’s much more powerful than Kat showing up to Charlie’s Mathalon in Peoria with a “Marry Me” sign, ferried there from the airport by Charlie’s colleague and best friend, Parker (Sarah Silverman)—the Spike (Rhys Ifans) of Marry Me, if you will.
Charlie’s acceptance of her grand gesture is, naturally, uploaded to Kat’s Instagram Live. On the contrary, and to demarcate what a difference two decades makes, Will’s own counter-grand gesture to Anna’s occurs at a press conference at the Savoy. Back when press conferences were held in such grand locations. To further accentuate the 90s-ness of Anna’s fame, Will tries to figure out which room the conference is being held in by flashing a Blockbuster membership card to the sentry at the front desk, to which he replies, “That’s a Blockbuster video membership card.” Will counters, “That’s right. I work for their in-house magazine.” Of course, that doesn’t get him in, but his best friend, Bella (Gina McKee), who is in a wheelchair, does manage to when she threatens the man with writing an article about London hotels’ treatment of people in wheelchairs. Which she wouldn’t need to write an article about in the 2020s, so much as simply film some slight or injustice and then share it to her accounts.
As Will asks a question to Anna about whether she would reconsider a relationship with the Englishman from her previous visit to London, even this moment is ultimately far more private than how news of Kat and Charlie’s love is spread across the internet. So yes, in many regards, Charlie is the braver man for taking on Kat as a “lifetime partner” (though maybe Kat is braver for taking on a man who already has a spawn), for Anna’s 1990s-era fame was a cakewalk compared to the daily rectal exam-level invasiveness of 2020s-era fame.
