Chapter 24

The Essential Obstacle

There has to be an obstacle to love. An opposing force. Something that is trying to keep these two apart. Something for them to overcome or escape or endure. Without that obstacle, your love story is not going to work. I teach my basic screenwriting class that if you don’t have a problem, you don’t have a story. The story is the problem in the most basic sense. It is the plot. Stephen King says, “A novel without a plot is like a Cadillac without an engine. It might look good, but it won’t take you anywhere.” This is equally true for movies.

A love story without an obstacle is like seeing young lovers cooing baby talk to each other in the next booth at the coffee shop. Not something we want to listen to or watch. Thus the creation of the phrase “Get a room!” If our movie lovers are living happily ever after anywhere but the very beginning or the very end of the movie, something is not right. I rarely use bad examples in teaching, but these two brief cautionary tales may save some of you grief later, so here goes.

In Wimbledon (2004, screenplay by Adam Brooks, Jennifer Flackett, and Mark Levin), a romcom set in the world of professional tennis, falling star Peter Colt (Paul Bettany), once ranked #11 in the world, has now slipped to #119. He is about to announce his retirement when he meets young American rising tennis star Lizzie Bradbury (Kirsten Dunst) who inspires him to up his game, which he does. He gets good again. They’re both terrific tennis players and in love and happy and successful and yikes. I hope you’re thinking what I’m thinking. What’s the problem? Exactly. No problem. No story. Her father is played by Sam Neill, so I thought, “Great. Dad’s going to be a problem.” Only he’s not. At most he’s a tiny speed bump that slows them down, well, not a bit. His opposing viewpoint? “I don’t want her to have any distractions.” Peter Colt’s response: “Can I just clarify something. Do you see me as a distraction?” Exactly what we were wondering.

The movie bombed at the box office. Even though it cost a modest $31 million, it made only half that much back domestically. And it’s not because Paul and Kirsten weren’t big enough stars. The movie also had James McAvoy and Nicolaj Coster-Waldau and half a dozen others. It was because there was no problem. Which means no story. Even though Bettany was funny and charming, underplaying and giving it the good old Hugh Grant performance, the movie was flat and dull. The only thing I enjoyed about watching this film at home on DVD was that my dad was an avid tennis player, and as we watched he kept up a running commentary on the game. “That’s a real ball.” “That’s CGI.” “Real. Real. Not.” Made it at least mildly entertaining.

The second cautionary tale is Serendipity (2001). It is set in the most beautiful, photogenic time in New York City. Christmas. Rockefeller Center. Ice skating. Snow gently falling on everything. Adorable young, attractive, charming people, Jonathan (John Cusack) and Sara (Kate Beckinsale) like each other right off. They have cute, funny banter. They kiss and everything is going so well. From page one. They fall in love.

And then? Nothing bad happens. No problem arises except one tiny thing. She’s an idiot. She decides that if they are destined to be together, they can throw each other away and destiny will bring them back together. Say what? Go ahead. Read that sentence again. It won’t get any less stupid. She says she’s going to go home and write her name and phone number inside the book she’s carrying and sell it to a used book shop. She tells him to write his phone number on a five dollar bill and give it to a homeless guy. Then that bill will magically come to her hand. If it’s meant to be. Then to put the dumb icing on the stupid cake, they go into a skyscraper and she says, “Let’s take two elevators and if we choose the same floor, we’ll be together now.”

Sara gets into one and pushes the button for floor number 23. Jonathan gets on another elevator and pushes number 23. Then a rotten kid jumps into his and pushes every button. By the time he gets to his/their floor she has given up and disappeared from his life. AAAGH! That is me screaming in frustration at the, you know, stupidity. And I personally believe in signs and omens and magical romantic stuff. But this? Please. If there is a God of Love that went to all the trouble to arrange for these two star-crossed people to find each other in New York City, at Bloomingdale’s at Christmas? That God would be tearing his hair out by half an hour in.

Ten years go by and Jonathan and Sara are now both engaged to marry different people. And, determined to break nearly all the rules of how to write love stories, they are engaged to completely fantastic people. (See Chapter 36, The Alternative is Impossible.) Jonathan is engaged to Bridget Moynahan, supermodel turned actress. And in addition to being gorgeous she is kind, patient, sweet, and not stupid. (Unlike some people.) And now, ten years later, Sara is engaged to a Yanni-type New Age musician. Successful, wealthy, adores Sara, and is played by John Corbett. Six foot five. Gorgeous. You remember him from Sex and the City (Aidan) and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. That John Corbett. And he loves her.

When Sara flies off to New York City looking for the love she threw away ten years ago, her fiancé follows her and she finds him sitting on the floor in front of her hotel room door with his guitar having just written her a new song because he loves her so much.

Of course shortly before this scene, on the plane Sara gets a five dollar bill in change for her drink and it has Jonathan’s phone number on it. And on the eve of Jonathan’s wedding his bride gives him a wedding present because he’s always looking at copies of this book in used book stores, and of course tonight of all nights, it’s the copy that has Sara’s number in it. We are supposed to forgive them both for wasting ten years and breaking two undeserving hearts and all this was for what reason? Oh yes. Stupidity. Don’t be stupid.

By the way, this one cost $28 million and eventually eked out $49 million gross, but $13 million of that was its opening weekend before it could be hurt by word of mouth. We were expecting something better. We didn’t get it. My problem with these things is that the blame goes in the wrong place. The powers that be decide “People just don’t want romantic comedies any more.” It doesn’t even cross their minds that it’s because these were bad movies that had serious problems back at the storyboard stage.

So what kind of obstacles can we come up with to create better love stories? The list is long. Let’s start with one that’s tried and true.