Why men are finally ready to snuggle up with a ‘mancom’
I will come clean and admit it here, in the pages of a national newspaper: I am a man who loves romantic comedies. As such, I can’t wait for Us, a David Nicholls’s 2014 novel that has been made into a four-part made-for-TV series.
It tells the story of Douglas Petersen, who attempts to win back the love of his wife during their Grand Tour of Europe. If the series is as funny, relatable and touching as the book, then we are in for a real treat.
I can pinpoint the early throes of my love of the romcom genre back to my childhood, when every Sunday afternoon we would cosy up under a duvet and watch a film. A family tradition of sorts.
My mum always seemed to be the one who picked out the video. As such, and without much say in the matter, I grew up on a cocktail of Hugh Grant, Julia Roberts and Richard Gere movies.
By my teenage years, I had discovered and fallen in love with Woody Allen’s back catalogue, and I had started reading the books of Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, Fever Pitch, About A Boy) and David Nicholls (Starter for Ten, One Day). There was no way back.
Of course, there are the good romantic comedies —
When
Harry Met Sally, Annie Hall, Amélie, The Apartment; the bad — Aloha, The Bounty Hunter; and the ugly — Year’s
New Eve.
During dark days, I have even delved into the collection of Katherine Heigl (Knocked Up, 27 Dresses). Yet all of these romcoms, and more recent offerings, are still primarily targeted at women.
Movies are classed as “chick flicks”, books as “chick lit” or “women’s fiction”.
Yet men are served “macho” films like Die Hard, a romance disguised with explosions and terrorists; Fight Club, a romantic comedy labelled a dark comedy; and (you get my
Top Gun point).
In recent years, with the advent of Kindles et al, we are now able to hide the covers of what we are reading. We can stream the films we like without having to be judged at the cinema; the romantics among us have been able to maintain our dirty little secret.
But we may not have to keep it hidden for much longer. As men are now being encouraged to talk more and be more open with our feelings, there seems to be a correlation with the rise of the ‘mancom’.
That’s a male romantic comedy, as if you didn’t know. In literature, this was spearheaded by Nicholls and Hornby, but it has been built upon in recent years by the likes of Danny Wallace, Graeme Simsion, Robert Webb and Owen Nicholls.
On the silver screen, some of the biggest romcoms of the past few years have been told from the male viewpoint — The Big Sick, Yesterday and Long Shot, to name but a few. And now on TV, we have Us.
What does this tell us? Firstly, we can see that the role of men has evolved enormously from the early screwball comedies of the Thirties.
Leading men can be more vulnerable and sensitive than the archetypes of the past, men are no longer the ones necessarily in the high-powered job, and frequently it is now the man trying to convince the woman to give love a chance.
Above all else, we can see that many of the issues associated with love and romance are universal. Be it Bridget Jones or Douglas Petersen, Julianne Potter or William Thacker, fear, anxiety, nervousness, jealousy and embarrassment are the side-effects of love for all.
This is only the case in films, you say? Men aren’t really like that. Well, from personal experience, I can tell you that being single and living alone throughout the pandemic has been like Valentine’s and Christmas all rolled into one very long day.
Throughout lockdown, I scrolled through my Instagram feed enduring the endless photos of couples bonding closer over Tiger King and banana bread, while my only company was my Amazon Alexa device, who never seeks to start a conversation herself.
I can tell you that I am fed up of the dreary dating apps, the perennial ghosting, and sifting through two-line profile bios replete with poor spelling. And that being faced with virtual dating, or dating in a post-Covid world, is a horrendous prospect.
A cute date to the cinema is not so cute when you have to sit three rows apart. A dinner whereby you have to communicate through a Perspex screen tends to kill any hint of romance.
I’m already envisaging that horrendously awkward moment when, before leaning in for a first kiss, you have to take your face mask off and the elastic snaps back at you. And I also can tell you that I have had my own fair share of movieesque romantic disasters.
Quitting your job and flying to Australia to see someone you thought you had a spark with is in fact a very bad, and very costly, idea.
Organising a treasure hunt for a first date, too, is catastrophic (made worse by the fact that my date couldn’t work out the first clue, so never actually arrived at our meeting point. For all I know, she could still be wandering around trying to decipher the riddle).
It is for this reason that the best romcoms are the ones which are relatable — we read and we watch to know that we are not going through these things alone.
We are not the only ones who read situations entirely wrong, who worry about other people’s impression of us, who wish for something more.
We see on screen that hurdles and obstacles — mental or physical — can be overcome. And in this new world where kissing is banned, holding hands forbidden and potential office romances are limited to breakaway Zoom meetings, we are all going to have a mountain of obstacles to overcome in the pursuit of love.
After all, romcoms, with their humour and hopefulness, are what we all need right now. And I’m not only saying that because I’ve just written one. The Flip Side by James Bailey is out now in e-book, and in paperback on November 26.