Following are notes from a paper given by Phil Mathews at the Popular Culture Association Annual Meeting in St. Louis. I was not able to attend this final romance area panel, but Phil kindly provided me with a copy of his paper from which to derive a summary. I cannot promise that I’ve got everything right.
Phil Mathews is a Lecturer in Screenwriting at Bournemouth University in Dorset, England. He has degrees in fine arts and screenwriting, and his research interests are in 70s – 00s cinema, screenwriting theory, and the romance genre. He is a practicing screenwriter with credits for both film and television.
Is the Happily Ever After a Romance Imperative?
This paper will attempt to draw direct links between romance literature and film where presently there exists often conflicting definitions of genre and form. The hope is to open investigation into the form and engender further debate.
I’d like to argue that the Romance genre is stigmatised undeservedly because of the imperative for a happy ending. It is easy for critics to cast aspersions over a genre if one of the primary plot points, the ending, and with it an emotional conceit to instill or illicit joy or familiarity in its audience, is sacrosanct. It could be argued that emotional investment in a narrative is tempered when the ending is a foregone conclusion either way, positive or negative. Does a genre need to prescribe specific endings to a potentially infinite amount of stories? What does a genre hope to gain by being incalcitrant? With genres constantly in flux and their patterns, conventions and tropes sensitive to their own cultural and contemporary milieu, is it not conceivable that romances can span the depth and breadth of our capacity to experience and express notions of love in whatever form and to whatever end?
Phil compares Pam Regis’s 8 essential components of a romance novel to a leading screenwriting theorist Phil Parker’s requirements for a love story in film, noting that Parker does not require an HEA. According to Parker, even a love story which ends with the characters apart is a romance, so long as as long as the transformative value of love is upheld.
Mathews recognizes that the HEA need not be solemnized by a wedding, but he notes that two ideas are central to the HEA: (1) true love is forever or at least for the rest of the couple’s lives, and (2) there is some form of validation of the couple’s commitment to each other.
Mathews is aware that critics dismiss romance on the basis of this narrative requirement of an HEA, he feels that more is going on here than a refusal among critics to recognize that, as Regis put it, “narratives end.” He thinks it is worthwhile to ask both why critics perceive the HEA as stigmatizing, and also to ask why the HEA is perceived by readers as necessary to the genre.
Phil proceeds to discuss several films which celebrate the positive power of love and end with the promise of love, but which do not stipulate “how that commitment must or might manifest itself. ”
These include:
Good dick (2008)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2003)
Juno (2007)
Lars and the Real Girl (2007)
Paper Heart (2009)
Monsters Ball (2001)
He then discusses The Time Traveler’s Wife (2009), Titanic (1997), and Ghost (1990) to suggest that “even the finality of Death need not be a barrier to the happily ever after.” He also mentions the film Love Me If You Dare (2003), in which the lovers consummate their relationship by kissing in the foundations of an office block as they are covered in wet cement. “They are literally petrified in a romantic embrace for all eternity, happily ever after.” Mathews writes.
Mathews suggests that the “cinematic resistance to betrothal” may have something to do with the greater time constraints presented by the medium, in which running times are between 90-200 minutes. He notes that some films address this issue by focusing tightly on the lead up to the betrothal and wedding, such as Meet the Parents (2000) and My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002).
Mathews discusses several other kinds of love story, including star-crossed lovers (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2009), Casablanca (1942)), tragic love stories (The Separation (1994), 5×2 (2004), the Break Up (2006) and Revolutionary Road (2008)), and love stories as subplots (The Piano Teacher (2001), Leaving Las Vegas (1995), Monster (2003), Carlito’s Way (1993),The Prestige (2006)).
He concludes by asking:
Would a more inclusive view of romance conventions, able to embrace the love plot, tragic or otherwise, not serve to consolidate the genre? Is the imperative for the happily ever after the stumbling block to the potential acknowledgment of the romance genre as the most ubiquitous or universal narrative form?
“They are literally petrified in a romantic embrace for all eternity, happily ever after.”
Well, you know, to me, that means they’re dead. No HEA if you’re bloody *dead*. If anyone tries to hand me that as my HEA in a *romance* I will hand them their metaphorical balls on a plate. I read Romance to be uplifted, and I’m not uplifted if the lovers are *dead* at the end.
As I argued so fruitlessly with dick a while ago, knowing there’s a HEA doesn’t in anyway limit a good writer in what they can create. If they want to write Romance, presumably they believe in the value of HEAs, so why would it be a problem to include one.
I can certainly tolerate things in a romance, especially in a *series*, which might not count as HEAs – the lovers breaking up, infidelity, inviting others into their relationship, the relationship being rocky, or even ended by death *if* the writer shows a plausible afterlife or reincarnation. But death by concrete? Not in my Romance books.
I decided to post my main comment at TMT, because it got rather too long to really fit into a comment here, but did Phil Mathews at any point mention the RNA or its definition of romantic fiction?
@Laura Vivanco: Laura, I did not see a reference ot RNA or RWA in the paper. He was focusing on Regis’s essential elements.
Thanks, Jessica. I didn’t want to make assumptions about that, on the basis of a summary, but at the same time, I did get a feeling that some aspects of the UK situation might undermine some of the conclusions he was drawing about the cause of the stigma attached to romance. I have a feeling there are at least some other parts of the world where the conventions of romance/romantic fiction don’t include an “imperative” to have an HEA.
I was wondering if he actually answered his own questions about the why the HEA is stigmatised? I also think that the RRR discussion on the aesthetics of junk fiction and the analysis of how readers read is important here. It seems to me from the concluding comments quoted that the paper wants us to give up the HEA so I have a ‘why’ question again – why does the author think it is a problem? Just beause critics and others say it is doesn’t make it one. They have just constructed the HEA in a way that isn’t how readers construct it. I wonder if the HEA as a problem is still an excuse to put aside not just women’s writing but women’s reading and what we get out of it; of dismissing the experience of women that they desire to have through reading romance.
I am quite willing to accept less-than-happy endings in other genres, but not in romance novels. While HEA is not the only point to romance, it certainly is one of the main draws for me as a reader. Stigmatizing romance for (allegedly) requiring a happy ending seems to me about as logical as stigmatizing certain formal types of poetry. There are rules for building a sonnet. What’s so terrible about having rules for romance? I agree with Ann’s initial comment that a good writer can create just about anything even within that restriction.
Much of the literary world seems enamored of cynicism, and since romance novels are very earnest in their presentation of emotions and their optimism, they are frequently scorned by critics–but I doubt that many romance writers and would-be romance writers (myself included) would want to change what they are doing in order to please critics (most of whom don’t deign to look at romance novels anyway).
As for romantic fiction that may not include a happy ending, seems to me that’s been around for centuries. I might even want to read some of it from time to time–but don’t try to sell it to me as a romance novel.
I’m perfectly happy with a happily ever after, but also perfectly happy without.
My view on romance is similar to Parker’s:
Or in more romancelandic terms, there’s a central love story.
@Laura Vivanco: ok, thanks Laura.
@Merrian: I wonder, too. The argument that there is something wrong with an HEA because people criticize it is backwards.
I also wonder if a few of the examples Phil gives of films that end with the couple getting together in the last moment aren’t what readers would in fact call HEAs (Before Sunset, for example). I think it is implied, that there is an HEA.
On the other hand, several of the film examples made me nod my head in agreement that they should be called, not just love stories, but romances.
@Chris B.: Great points on rule and cynicism, both of which are at play in interesting ways in this debate.
It would be interesting to try to understand, since, as you note, romance fiction without an HEA has been around for a long time, why we had the emergence of this specific genre with the HEA when we did.
@RfP: Is there a non-HEA book you can think of — not a series like Outlander with an infinitely deferred HEA — that romance genre readers have embraced? Would the Time Traveler’s Wife be one?
I note that a lot of bloggers lately have been saying they get their best romance in other genres, like SFF or mystery. I assume those books do not have a focus on a central love story, but now I wonder if in those books there is no HEA either.
When did the modern romance genre, with the requirement for an HEA emerge? I don’t know the precise date, which is why I’m asking. I haven’t been specialising in the literary or business history aspects of the study of the genre, so I don’t know very much about this. Nonetheless, my impression is that Mills & Boon started specialising in that kind of romantic fiction at some point, and I suspect that since they were marketing their books by type, instead of by author, it made sense for them to guarantee that their books would provide a certain kind of reading experience. Harlequin, of course, ended up following in M&Bs footsteps in that regard, and took the marketing of romance as a product even further. I’d assume that single title romance, clearly designated and labelled on the spine as “romance” with the guarantee of an HEA, emerged later, so perhaps its publishers were following Harlequin M&B?
This discussion reminds me of one I had with an acquaintance some years back. She was feeling badly because her partner had been deriding her generally sunny and optimistic disposition, saying something to the effect that “only stupid or clueless people are happy in the world today – if you weren’t so clueless you wouldn’t be so happy”.
I was able to point her to some, for lack of a better term, happiness research that indicated that while ignorance might well be bliss, bliss itself is not limited to the ignorant. (BTW, she ditched him not long after.)
Arguing against the HEA as a norm of romance writing seems to me to be an effective way to eliminate the genre and/or really, for true, thoroughly ghettoize it by encouraging/insisting that the more clever writers start ending their books with dead lovers in cement (really? horrid!) or somesuch, leaving the HEAs as the province of the cluelessly happy and ignorant. Myself, I don’t much see the need for the genre to change to gain the critical acceptance. If it is to be maligned as only happy because it’s stupid, then the fault lies with the maligner and nowhere else.
You’d have to signal to customers which books in the brand new all-inclusive ‘romance genre’ had HEAs.
‘Feel-good romances’ perhaps.
And the people who sneer at romance would sneer at feel-good romances instead, and nothing would have changed except the labels.
Maybe I’ve missed his point…
He ought to do a comparison with endings in romantic anime.
In manga/anime with a strong romance theme, I’d say the requirement is that the lovers end up recognizing their love and somehow consummating it (this can mean anything from a kiss to a night together). An HEA in the form of actually being together for a long time isn’t required, although I admit that it’s the most satisfying one for me personally – I wonder if that’s because I’m used to romance novels, or an innate preference.
However, since (manga especially) can go on for so much longer than novels, the period that the lovers are together can be quite long even if they separate/die at the end. Sometimes it’s hard to tell until after the story is finished whether the romance was a primary theme.
While I loved Love Me If You Dare (I even liked the ending), I’d not classify it as a romantic film (not even a romantic fantasy, even though it appears like one).
I’m trying to decide how I’d describe it. It’s a Peter Pan type? Not wanting to grow up, resenting adult responsibilities, what if? (think Sliding Doors/Run Lola Run), and how far could one go before one could cry “Uncle!”. A game of emotional endurance, perhaps?
I felt the ending was the ultimate F.U. gesture to the games of life by immortalising the greatest moment of time. My memory might be wronging me on this one, though, so I’ll have to re-watch it. Such a hardship.
In any case, I’d not recommend this to a traditional romance reader because if I remember right, it can be a little depressing and frustrating. And cynical, perhaps. Both characters are rather destructive, selfish, and cruel.
But for anyone who wants to look at life/love from a different angle, it’s worth checking out. I loved the film, the warts and all. It’s a visually beautiful and literal form of saying ‘love is a dangerous game’.
Sorry for going off the track.
Love this post. I do agree with him that the HEA is mostly stigmatised.
I’m thinking perhaps it may be because – perhaps – of a belief that it can’t be love if one feels it has to have the HEA. By this, I mean the HEA is another assurance that it’s love. If you need an assurance, then it can’t be love because if it’s real, you don’t need to be assured at all. It simply is.
However, there’s a problem with this line of thinking. Two things:
a) I think love is so universal that it’s hard for some to treat it as an abstract thing when they watch films. We all have had an encounter with being in love, having our hearts broken and like so, it’s hard for some to accept the romantic HEA as a ‘real’ thing because love is so fluid and perhaps fragile. It cannot be real until someone disappears or dies. Death (figurative or not) is a permanent thing and only then, love can be immortalised. Because death means there would be no more possibilities.
A former colleague once said, “Love is for children”, which implies that pure love is a fantasy. Like innocence, love can’t be kept pure for ever. As we grow up, we collect experiences, traumas, agendas, desires, sins and so on. All these infect ‘love’, like oil or blood dropping into the water. These elements in the water that could affect the relationship later, therefore the HEA itself couldn’t be possible. I don’t know. I need to think about this one.
b) When we say ‘HEA’, we think of romance, love, lovers, etc. but what about non-romantic films with issues resolved? Saving Private Ryan, Cinema Paradiso, Blade Runner (hey, look! they ride off into the sunset!), The Shawshank Redemption, or Fight Club, for instance? I could argue that The Usual Suspects has a HEA. It depends on which side you’re on, of course.
Anyroad, why do critics accept this kind of HEA with ease while they won’t with romantic films? I find this double standard puzzling. It’s a matter of perspective, I suppose.
Goodness me. I think I’d just talked loads of crap with no clear point made. Sorry if it is. I need a cuppa.
@Victoria Janssen: @Jill Astley:
I have mixed feelings about bringing manga/anime (along with manhua and manwha) into this because the cultural concepts of love and death are different. I think in Christian mythology (correct me if I get this wrong), there is heaven and hell [edit: and that death is permanent] whereas in Shinto/Buddhist/etc mythology, there is no heaven and hell (not in western sense, anyway) as there is the Afterlife. If it doesn’t work out in this life, there is always the next life. My dad has a very different (Shinto-influenced) view of death and the nature (in his family, the nature is a life provider (food, sea, etc) and it’s considered ‘heaven/hell’; when you die, you’re absorbed into the nature), and love. When a couple dies, like Romeo & Juliet, in this country it’s a tragedy because they’re permanently separated, but for people like my dad, it’s the ultimate HEA because they’ll be together in the afterlife until they’re reborn. I may be wrong, though, but that’s my impression anyway. So, yeah, I think we need to take this kind of thing into account when comparing HEAs on international basis.
Is a HEA imperative? For me, when reading a romance: HELL, YEAH.
If I want tragedy, I’ll read something tragic, with or without a romantic relationship in it. If I want a romance, I’ll read one with a HEA-and frankly, why do we care whether genre romance is recognized as the most ubiquitous of narrative forms? (and recognized by whom, again?)
Barbara Delinsky’s Three Wishes is a book that gets mentioned often during this type of discussion. I really liked it, wouldn’t call it anything but romance.
Bridges of Madison County is another example. I don’t know if that’s considered a romance, maybe because of the author (male?) and the ending.
Sheesh! Y’all are really brutal when someone dares to question the Sacred Cow.
Phil poses a couple of really interesting points: 1) What exactly is the purpose of a romance, the love story or the marriage? Perhaps it’s the single-minded insistance on betrothal and marriage that’s stigmatized. If the purpose of the romance is celebrate the redemptive power of love, then the marriage-HEA is irrelevant.
2) What’s the difference between a “romance” and a “love story”? Just the HEA? One is necessarily optimistic and the other not? How narrow is the definition?
Tracy Grant’s romances featuring Charles and Melanie have postive resolutions; the marriage-HEA has already occurred. Yet Grant continues to negotiate the vagueries of love, romantic relationships and the “ever after.”
So I think Phil asks a good question: is the marriage-HEA absolutely necessary to the romance?
Thanks everyone! I’ve been posting a lot which means less time for comments.
@Maryan:
First, Hi Maryan!! *waves*
I do too. Having met Phil at last year’s PCA and again at this one, it’s clear to me he’s not just buying into the viewpoint of critics who know nothing of the genre, but asking important questions. I think we get sick of dealing with criticisms, but he is new to them, and also looking at it from a film perspective.
But even putting entirely aside the issue of whether having the HEA does in fact diminish the value of the romance in some way, the question of whether and why an HEA is necessary is still an interesting one, and it’s also interesting to me to wonder if the HEA is only a requirement for novels, or whether it is also a requirement for romance in other forms, such as film, and why or why not. So I am glad Phil is asking these questions.
Maryan, I don’t know about brutal, but I’ll say that I–me, personally, not speaking for anyone else here–HEA and marriage are not the same thing.
HEA, for me, means that at the end of the novel I can believe that these people will make it. That the ups and down of life will not break them apart. That they’ll thrive–together–through thick and thin.
Can’t very well do that if they are dead, or separated forever, or in relationships with other people, right?
I’ve had a couple more thoughts – If the HEA defines romance then was he asking (1) if the examples he analysed where romance or a love story and drawing distinctions between the two? (2) In questioning the HEA I wonder whether this is about the notion of limits. We live in a culture that doesn’t like limits and values individualism. Anything that seems like a limit is seen as bad automatically – we always seem to talk about limits as things to be overcome… with Chronic Illness for example, the limits represented by the illness are part of the stigmatising of people with CI. The limits, limit the capacity for agency of that person. So the HEA is seen as a narrowing of possibility (as well as people not believing in Happy Endings) because as well, by becoming a couple the agency of the individuals is limited. I am a believer in HFN – I just want to believe in the future of the central relationship because I want to beleive there is more to the story.
Hmm. Is solving the crime an imperative for a mystery?
I’m not sure of his point, to be quite frank. Is this a case of wanting to define a genre, redefine it, change it, what?
I must completely agree with azteclady. If it doesn’t have an HEA (NOT defined by a marriage at the end), it ain’t romance. Call it a love story or a tragedy or a feel-good story or a what-have-you, but don’t call it romance.
The problem is that the definition or redefinition affects marketing, sales, what shelves it sits on. You put Bridges of Madison County in genre romance, you’re gonna have a lot of pissed-off readers because the implication is, it’s on the genre romance shelves, it’s an HEA. People are BUYING the HEA. They aren’t buying anything BUT the HEA.
That.
@azteclady:
I am so late to this party but I have to say that this comment made me chuckle.
People tend to confuse emotionally triumphant endings with what romance readers mean when we say we want a HAPPILY EVER AFTER. And yes, I put that in caps and bolded it because it’s that important. See, the thing is that a tragic ending that has a point to make about life and love can be triumphant as well as emotionally satisfying. But it ain’t no happily ever after. It never will be. It can’t even pretend to be.
Romeo and Juliet is timeless and classic because no matter how many times it’s retold, reinvented and reworked to fit however many settings and eras, it still tugs on the heartstrings.
But it’s still only an exceptionally well-done masterpiece of a love story.
Because that’s not what the modern romance genre has evolved into being about. The modern genre is about relationships that can actually work and have a chance of surviving past that last page. We don’t want to be told they’re going to live happily ever after like in some blasted fairy tale. We want the authors to prove it to us before the books end. We want evidence. Committment to the process. The way I like to put it is that other genres settle for endings that only make them “happy” even if they’re in tears but romance readers expect complete satisfaction and nothing less.
Characters being dead definitely puts a crimp in that state of affairs.
Although… anyone else hooked on the TV series Ghost Whisperer? Ahem.