Lost in Transaction

***Spoilers for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and The Kissing Booth 2. Proceed with caution***

“Is life a series of heartbreaks or a series of love stories?” asked my friend last night.

I responded; “Love. Heartbreak is just the conflict, like in a rom-com.”

I’m not ashamed to admit that my viewing habits are not always as highbrow as Tarkovsky or as masterful as Kubrick. That being said, I wouldn’t necessarily self-identify as the average romantic comedy connoisseur, (I’ve sadly only seen one Nora Ephron movie). In my tween years, I definitely indulged in the myriad of trashy ‘chick flicks’ that Netflix so graciously had to offer. One of the most fruitful and interesting ways to look at the motif of love in film is by tracing its effects throughout different time periods and societies. Of course, the motif of love transcends the late 2000s rom-com formula, the rom-com genre, and even the realm of film altogether, spilling over into other forms of art and media.

Over the years, how has love - and our perception and representation of love - changed? How has our concept of intimacy evolved? If movies are even half as representative of a culture or zeitgeist as I believe they are, then a comparison of even the most trivial romantic movies can help us to answer these questions. If you’re wondering, I give this preamble in an attempt to dissuade you from judging me for bringing The Kissing Booth 2 (2020) into the sanctity of this artistic community. I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do now to stop me.

If you have had the terrible misfortune of experiencing the miserable offense that is The Kissing Booth (2018), then you are probably also familiar with the flaws its sequel is riddled with. The performances are subpar at best, the copious subplots get out of control, and a sizable chunk of the writing can be seen as shallow or cringe-worthy. With that being said, the sequel is infinitely better than the original in every aspect. It feels more like a movie than fanfiction, it’s far more coherent, and I even laughed at some of the jokes.

The Kissing Booth 2 follows Elle, a senior in high school, whose boyfriend, Noah, has recently gone off to college across the country. The usual long-distance shenanigans ensue - a combination of weekend visits, jealousy and suspicion, falling out of contact, and meeting people who challenge their relationship. In terms of techniques, it’s not an unpleasant movie. The soundtrack is surprisingly good, too; it feels like a product of this time period and not in a bad way.

Subplots run amok throughout the movie, even giving one to Elle’s best friend’s girlfriend, which is just too tenuous of a link to the main plot to have relevance, in my opinion. One major subplot follows Elle’s financial worries about college. She is at least middle class, but college tuition is a major concern for most American families, even if they are financially secure. This prompts Elle to train for a Dance-Dance-Mania competition with the dreamy new kid Marco as her partner. The prize money from the competition would allow her to go to a non-public, out of state school near her boyfriend, but she begins to doubt if Noah is “the one.”

Marco’s dancing skills provide the necessary foundation for winning the prize money. From the outset, the courtship that develops between Marco and Elle is underpinned by a monetary motive. Although the concept of a video game dancing competition is fairly modern, the idea of love as a transaction is quite perennial. In any Jane Austen novel, marriage is a deeply entwined economic move, and this is not confined to literature; throughout history and even today this remains a reality for many people throughout the world. In The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), Genevieve must think with her head rather than her heart and marry the man who can provide for her and her illegitimate child.

First off, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) is a delightful and tragic romance directed by Jacques Demy contemporaneously with the French New Wave movement. Demy crafts a musical fantasy world of enchantment that any viewer can tell inspired Damien Chazelle’s La La Land (2016). At the beginning, teenage Genevieve falls deeply in love with a motor mechanic named Guy. She wishes to get married, but her mother discourages it. Being 20, Guy is drafted and must serve in Algeria for two years, which prompts one of the most dramatic two-kids-in-love-tragically-kept-apart goodbye sequences I have ever witnessed. Seriously, though, how many times have we seen a 17-year-old declare she “can’t live without” some mediocre beau?

Like Elle, Genevieve grows apart from her distant love and meets another man, Roland. He is everything that Guy is not: sensible, dependable, and wealthy. Instead of college tuition fees, Genevieve has pregnancy and the economic weight of raising a child to worry about.

Madame Emery, Genevieve’s mother, pushes her daughter to forget her first love. She asks, “What future does he offer you?” A similar conversation transpires between Elle and her father when her father questions if Noah is worth changing her life plans for. Elle originally planned to study at Berkeley, which would offer in-state tuition, but Noah introduced her to the idea of more expensive Boston schools. Her father is well-intentioned, but he does push Elle toward the more economical option. The difference is simply that this parent is pushing for a more fiscally conservative option by way of a school, rather than a boy.

Genevieve worries that her pregnancy with Guy will turn Roland away. She asks her mother, “Do you think he’ll take me like this? If he refuses me as I am, it means he doesn’t have deep feelings for me.” Genevieve knows that true intimacy is revealing one’s unadulterated self and exposing the rawness within.

Roland graciously upholds his marriage offer and the two are wed. Here, another example of love as a transaction emerges. If you haven’t yet, I suggest you watch this film just to experience the third act that chronicles what happens after Guy’s return. The magical aesthetic of the film is contrasted by its unhappy, pragmatic ending. In all its melodrama and formalist style, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg feels more realistic in its ending than The Kissing Booth 2, where Elle ends up with Noah whom her heart truly desires (for some inexplicable reason). 

Instead, Demy gave us the story of two hearts diverged, still beating, yet so dissatisfied. Heartbreak can be more than just the conflict of one story. It isn’t only a challenge in the face of true love, nor an obstacle to get over and done with before the credits roll. It’s the ending and it’s the beginning, all at once.

“Heartbreak is just the conflict, like in a rom-com.”

“But eventually it has to end,” my friend said, referring to love.

“Yeah, but then it comes around again.”