genre – The Concordian

Modern romantic comedy movies have made me lose all hope for the genre—but were rom-coms ever that good in the first place?

I have been trying to write this article, but I got distracted rewatching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time. You see, romantic comedies have always been my guilty pleasure—with all the corny meet-cutes, the “Will she, won’t she?”, the slow burns and all the tropes, and the inevitable confession of love. Scenes from my all-time favourites live rent free in my mind, and I have long wished to be Meg Ryan, the It-Girl of rom-coms in her time.

This movie genre was a major player in the ‘90s movie-scape, with movies like When Harry Met Sally, Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, and Pretty Woman smashing box offices and providing a decent dose of fluffy escapism. But since then, something seems to have shifted. Modern rom-coms often come off as unmistakably cheap, featuring little personality and an abundance of cringe-worthy dialogue.

Because of my love for love-based media and my quest for a modern rom-com that’s as satisfying as the classics, I was beyond excited to see Anyone but You, the new rom-com starring Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell. I had been told that this movie was an exception to the phenomenon of disappointing rom-coms. Well, I was lied to.

Bad writing, bad acting, bad movie. Was this written by ChatGPT? I wondered many times. We laughed at the movie far more times than with it, and certain moments had me rolling my eyes so far into the back of my head that I’m sure they’re still stuck there. Anyone But You just proved what I’ve been saying—modern rom-coms suck, and the golden age of the genre is over.

However, this thought led me to a second one: Were rom-coms ever so golden in the first place?

The closer you look, the more you realize these so-called classic movies were rife with issues. It’s hard to avoid the glaring fact that they all pretty much revolve around thin heterosexual white people. They’re often sexist, play into hetero-normative gender roles, completely wonky on the issue of consent, and feature tokenization or just downright offensive portrayals of minority groups.

So-called romantic elements, too, can leave viewers scratching their heads. Remember that scene in The Notebook where Noah dangles from the ferris wheel until Allie agrees to go out with him? Super romantic! Male leads are often alarmingly pushy, and rewarded for this behaviour.

Not even my favourites have aged well. What’s the message of You’ve Got Mail, for example? The big CEO shuts down Kathleen Kelly’s family-owned bookstore, effectively destroying her dreams…and it’s ok because they live happily ever after?

So, where’s the middle ground? Where are all the well-written, beautifully-made movies that are actually politically progressive and reflect a more open understanding of what love can look like?

Now is a better time than ever to revitalize the genre. I propose a formula that takes the best elements of classic rom-coms and combines those with a modern lens.

So bring back rom-coms. But not like this. And maybe not like that, either.

The case against a genre that generalizes the planet

When someone talks to you about pop music, you have a certain idea of what that sounds like. The same goes for rock and its various subgenres: punk, metal, grunge. Likewise, if I say I like hip hop or R&B, you can somewhat tell what kind of sound I’m into. But what about world music? What does that evoke? Does it even mean anything at all?

The term “world music” is not only odd, but it is also sometimes used in a way that’s almost perversely Western-centric. When scouring Apple Music’s genres, for example, you’ll see pop, alternative, hip hop, rock, country, and jazz as some of the main genres. Then, at the bottom of the list, the “world” section sits, devoid of any indicator as to exactly what you’ll find inside.

Though surprising at first, there is such a concept as world music—and it is in total opposition to the “genre” found on various streaming apps, containing music from all over the world with no distinction of style. In North America, one of the first definitions for world music date back to the 1960s and was coined by ethnomusicologist Robert Brown.

As Brown founded the World Music Program at Wesleyan University in 1965, in Connecticut, his goal was to put Western music on the same proportional ground as other musical trends across the globe. The term “world music” actually referred to music from across the world, separated into traditions that pertained to certain geographical boundaries. Thus, the term was meant to be inclusive—not distinguishing Western music from other trends, but putting it on the same stand as everything else.

Brown’s definition of the term, however, did not catch on elsewhere in the United States. The 1970s brought the creation of more institutions with a focus on “world music.” Those institutions would use the term to define “non-Western” or “ethnic” musical trends—something that seemingly has remained until today, to a certain extent. The name became popular, to a point where we now have an entire Billboard chart (established in the 1990s) dedicated to this new marketed “genre.”

But now, in 2019, as you look down that chart, a couple things stand out. As of Jan. 12, the top 12 albums on Billboard’s Top World Albums Chart were released by South Korean K-Pop groups, who perform typically pop, hip hop, or EDM-influenced music. This time last year, Billboard’s top 10 featured K-Pop sensation BTS at the top (hip hop, South Korea), rival group EXO following right behind (R&B, South Korea), and a potluck of international artists: Trio Da Kali and Kronos Quartet (traditional griot, Mali), Celtic Thunder (Celtic folk, Ireland), Residente (hip hop, Puerto Rico). Seemingly, the only similarity between these artists is their non-Americanness, and possibly, the language in which they perform.

Streaming apps, such as Spotify and Apple Music, have already started making efforts—half-assed, but efforts nonetheless—in endowing their platforms with more inclusive labels. Spotify has no world-labelled genre subsection. Instead it has specific, geographically-based ones: Arab, Desi (India, Pakistan, Bangladesh), Afro (non-Arab, often Black artists from Africa), K-Pop and Latin. Apple Music follows a similar trend, with K-Pop and Latino genre labels, yet still provides a world section, with a patchwork selection of genres.

However, the issue with such geographical labels is that, while efficient and somewhat seemingly inclusive, they still make an odd distinction of the “other.” Does your streaming app offer a “Western” subgenre?

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

These geographical labels can be useful—especially if you’re curious about music in a certain language, or from a specific country—but shouldn’t constitute genres in and of themselves. While this could have been different a century ago, the truth is that artists from across the planet now perform in a wide range of styles, regardless of borders. Geographical distinctions can—even should—exist alongside musical distinctions.

Here’s an idea: bring the “world” artists in the “Western” genres. Get NCT 127 (urban hip hop, South Korea) to compete with other pop or hip hop artists. Bring Babylone (indie folk, Algeria) into the folk charts. Don’t keep Maritta Hallani’s latest album, Maritta (pop, Lebanon), to a style limited by the language she sings in. In fact, this isn’t a novel idea: Spanish singer Rosalía was featured in both Apple Music’s World and Pop genre sections with her album El mal querer, a brilliant flamenco record infused with R&B and pop influences. So, why not do the same for everyone?

Feature photo by Sarah Boumedda