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Imagine Me & You

First and foremost (despite what anyone will tell you), Imagine Me & You is a romantic comedy. Thus I begin with a disclaimer:

Though at one point in time, the romantic comedy was quite possibly an ingenious discovery of cosmic proportions, it has, in its short life span, become something of a SUC – Soddy, Ubiquitous Cliché. Certainly, good romantic comedies are, if we were to take a trip down memory lane, in existence (just think Hepburn’s Sabrina or Brit-flick Love Actually), but in present time, the expectation is that if a film is being sold as a rom-com, it will pretty much adhere to the basic principles of SUC: Cardboard characters, contrived storyline, and plagiarized dialogue. Nowadays, it’s a genre people tend only to enjoy when severely wasted, if at all. Quite honestly, one has to wonder why Hollywood (and any other Tinseltowns out there) persistently forces this quicksanding trash down our very irritated throats, when it has unabashedly become something we only discuss when off-color, cheap humor runs dry at the dinner table.

But, three seconds into this film, it all became clear to me.

The genre isn’t the problem at all. In fact, if you can find a truly lovely story to tell, some wonderful actors to tell it, and an amazing director to set the pace, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with formula.

In my experience, British humor is based almost entirely on endearing and understated self-deprecation. The quips are quick, brilliant, and unexpected, but most importantly, they are delivered with impeccable timing and remarkably good taste. When a character throws in a one-liner, we are amused not because the situation in which it appears is contrived to make us giggle, but rather because we can actually, quite literally, see ourselves making a similar crack in such a moment as manifested on screen. There is a touch of reality to the humor, and it is this realism that makes it all the more pleasing to our comedic palate. True to form, the film does anything but abandon the same endearing quality of understated quipping, and it becomes impossible not to laugh out loud at lines like, “We can talk sports, but don’t ever talk to me about my daughter, because when you do, the only concrete thought running through my head is, ‘The hound is sticking it to my little girl’“ (uttered by the brilliant Anthony Head as “Heck” tries, rather unsuccessfully, to discuss his perplexingly inadequate sex life with his father-in-law). The humor is executed with just the right amount of finesse such that each jibe feels more like a nudge to the side than a punch in the gut.

However, what impresses me most about the film is its ability to be completely convincing with the grave nature of its subject matter, even as it continues to lavish the audience with snappy lines and remarkably endearing characters. Rarely does any film, let alone a romantic comedy, manage to play both comic and dramatic factors to perfection (think the recent, disjointedly lacking Family Stone), but here, both work in seamless harmony to convey a truly likeable story. “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” inquires the young (and precocious) “H” (Rachel’s eight-year-old sibling played by adorable newcomer Boo Jackson) as the film opens to a gorgeous wedding day. The quest for an answer to this query leads each of the central characters on a journey toward a very satisfying end, but as such, the journey itself must be heartrendingly brutal and, quite paradoxically, sympathetically objective. The film succeeds (and exceeds) on all accounts, for, though it allows us to fully identify with each of the characters as they face an unstoppable force, at no point is any individual character allowed access to our undivided sympathy. Because the situation is an ensemble predicament, our sympathy (and judgment) becomes incredibly aware of its holistic implications. And the actors do not disappoint; the characters are utterly believable in their predicaments – Rachel must choose between her heart and her conscience, Luce must decide to either walk away or stay and wait (both of which may lead to inevitable heartbreak), and Heck (though, for much of the film, completely befuddled by his wife’s lack of interest) must ultimately opt for gracious defeat or miserable victory. And, as the film convincingly shows, all of the options are incredibly human, but none of them can be without consequence.

I realize precious little has been said about the “lesbian theme” of the film, which I’m guessing many potential audiences are interested in. Truthfully, other than two highly amusing sequences with Rachel and some cheap rental lesbian porn (“Georgie’s Bush,” ‘nuff said), homosexuality is hardly a heavy concern within the film, although it does lend itself to some very well-executed moments of confusion (such as when Rachel comes out to her parents: “Her name is Luce.” “But…Luce is a woman. As are you”). Personally, I find this to be rather a sign of progress than an avoidance of subject matter. Because Ol Parker so painstakingly constructs and proves his ideal of love, it becomes crucial that he focus on the elements of love rather than the biology of lust; it seems the pervasive theme conveyed is that true love (whether it be hetero- or homosexual) – can happen to anyone at any moment, and that exercising faith in the human capacity to recognize it in the first magical encounter is half the battle. And love – for those who have been lucky enough to experience it – knows no gender; as such, we are spared the all-too-familiar scenes of “coming to terms with one’s sexuality” that usually involve some heavy self-denial, forced heterosexual intercourse, and an obligatory “I-can’t-be-gay-because-my-parents-will-disown-me-and-my-neighbors-will-lynch-me” sequence. For avoiding this deathtrap, I wholly commend Ol Parker for finally carrying the theme of homosexuality into the 21st century, where (shockingly), there are actually women who can fall deeply in love with one another without having to identify as “lesbian” or “bisexual,” because (brace yourself), our identity lies in who we love and not what we shag. Even in moments of emotional intensity (and there are a few), we feel it is as moving and as “right” as though it were a heterosexual couple experiencing a similar emotional awakening. Why? Because it IS right. We never doubt it not because we are forced to believe in their love (as so many contrived rom-coms expect us to do), but because we have been utterly convinced that they deserve to have what they need: Each other.

What I find obnoxiously (and noxiously) prevalent in most romantic comedies (or, really, any film with a love triangle) is what I disdainfully label as the “Third Wheel Wank,” who you immediately identify as either an intolerable prick or an irredeemable loser. Films that incorporate such a character always raise the inevitable question: If the guy is such a wanker, then why is she with him? From that moment on, you know that the film has been specifically concocted so that you do root for the two central characters – not because you love the central characters, but because you hate the TWW. Fortunately (you may breathe a sigh of relief), such is not the case with Matthew Goode’s Heck. In fact, Heck comes across as a perfectly likeable (even lovable) guy – he clearly loves Rachel, he wants a family with her, and (this being the most important), he is not a clueless fop; instead, Heck is keenly aware of and sensitive to her every emotion. Here is a man who knows, instinctively, that something is awry with his marriage, and he makes every effort to correct it. And yet, though we come to truly love Heck, we are still able see why he is not the man – or rather, person – for Rachel. And vice versa.

This film would be incomplete were it not for the side characters that provide insight and depth to the story. Rachel’s parents Ned and Tessa – played by Anthony Head and Celia Imrie (both amazing thespians) – seemingly exemplify the couple that Rachel and Heck may eventually become – passionless and taciturn (and a tad passive-aggressive) – until a surprise ending (in which Ned begins with “when I met your mother…back in the Trojan War”) proves that things are not always what they appear, and that all love (even true love), requires effort, compromise, and communication. Darren Boyd (as Coop) plays what could have potentially been an obnoxiously formulaic character (as I’m sure he was on paper), but his excellent portrayal allows the character to rise from its stereotype and become an endearing (though misguided) playboy who eventually (and very persuasively) learns a valuable lesson from an unexpected source. Luce’s mother, as the jilted single mother looking for love, provides not only a believable excuse for the beautiful Luce’s single life, but also offers just the right amount of heartfelt advice in Luce’s moments of confusion and heartbreak, lending a different (but equally valid) perspective to the situation. And the lovable “H,” aside from illustrating the forever innocence of first love – at first sight, also lends Heck the strength of kindness he needs to move on with his life. Of course (last but not least), the immensely interesting characters that enter Luce’s shop – each there to buy flowers for specific (and unique) purposes – provide structure and example to the themes of love, heartbreak, and hope that hurt can be healed.

So go see it.

Written by: Irene Shih

Reviewers Rating: 9
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