On Relationships (of the Fictional Variety), Part I

Speaking as someone who has gone through a string of girlfriends and become something of a family joke in the process (at least in the Washington-based circle of my relatives), I believe I can say with a certain degree of certainty that relationships can be extremely tricky things to navigate in real life. On one memorable occasion, I was dragged into a protracted argument with a particular girlfriend when I suggested that House and Wilson were totally gay for each other. It's amazing how something as harmless (and completely true) as that can cause heated tempers and fireworks of a nearly domestically violent variety. More than amazing, actually: it's completely fucking irrational.

But that's the whole point - love (not to mention lust, and everything related to the two) is something which operates outside the realm of rationality. It's full of ups and downs - some bigger than others - and often cannot be relied upon to conform to whatever rules or conventions you decide to impose upon it. If you're a biblical sort of person, you'll know that "love is patient, love is kind," but if you listen to Chris Rock, you should also know that "if you've never seriously considered murder, you ain't never been in love."

I. Love = Achievement Unlocked (way to level up, bro)

Love is a difficult and complex thing; even in the best of times, it's hard to understand in real life - which makes it damn near impossible to write (well) in fiction, especially of the serial variety. Movies can often neatly sidestep the issue by waiting until the ending to have people get together, and leaving the rest to your imagination. The same goes for operas and novels and such: like movies, they have a limited amount of time and/or space to tell their story, and the easiest way to treat love is as something to be achieved. Love is a prize, and the hero/ine has to overcome whatever obstacles are necessary to gain that love - whether those obstacles come in the form of societal pressure, emotional problems, or (most likely, considering my tastes in entertainment) zombies/men with guns/zombies with guns/snakes on a muthafuckin' plane/orcs. This tends to lead to a "happily ever after" mindset, where we're just expected to accept that since these people have just saved the world and they're kissing now, everything is going to be warm-fuzzy and shiny forever. Sequels will sometimes play with this trope, having a couple that was together at the end of the first movie be estranged by the beginning of the second (e.g. Ghostbusters 2. Yes, I know it's a shit movie, but it's the first one I could think of). This recognizes the whole "love isn't easy" thing, but it still sidesteps the issue of having to portray two people in a relationship - and thus, I call bullshit.

Of course, a certain British spy with a certain license to perform lethal acts of grievous bodily harm has a new love interest each movie, and never makes any mention of what became of the set of breasts woman from the preceding film. Strangely enough, I find this more acceptable (in a narrative sense) than the alternative, because it's a well-established character trait that he will have sex with just about anything that moves. Also, women are little more than objects to him, and he gets a new set of gadgets every movie - so having equally disposable women actually makes sense, in an unrealistic, misogynistic, how-do-you-not-have-sixty-different-varieties-of-syphilis kinda way. The whole idea of love as achievement makes relationships into a commodity anyway - things to be won, like plush toys at a carnival - but at least the Bond movies are open about it. It sure as hell isn't love, but it never really claims to be. There are a couple notable exceptions (cough Vesper Lynd cough), but they both die before their respective movies are finished, putting them in a different category of fictional relationships altogether.

And that brings me to the next segment, which you'll have to wait for. It's taken me too long to get this far anyway.