Get in My Bed! (And Other Hollywood Lessons)

Everyone finds themselves confused, at least once or twice in their lives, about matters of the heart. Over the course of the past few months, I’ve had around a dozen conversations with friends and acquaintances—whether they’re married or single, gay or straight, old or young—who suspect they are dating the wrong person, married to the wrong person, or coveting the wrong person. Or sometimes the problem is that they’re with a person at all, when they just want to be alone, or snuggling up to their pet chihuahua watching The Real Housewives.

Of course, the reason the person is “wrong” for them varies. They could have the wrong career, the wrong personality, or the wrong attitude about commitment. They could have incompatible personalities, incompatible work schedules, or incompatible levels of passion. Sometimes wrong just translates to crazy, or not crazy enough. There are many reasons these objects of affection are possibly not the right choice.

Granted, I’m a journalist and can get people to open up, but I think in general these topics are discussed more liberally these days. But the more my friends talk about why they are enamored with a so-called wrong person, I realize that none of us really knows a thing about what we or anyone else really wants, because half the time we’re too busy planning our lives around what we think we need. Until we realize the heart wants what the heart wants.

There’s really nothing you can say in a situation like this. So you resort to the old standbys: “Have you talked about this with your partner?” Or, “You know, the grass is always greener…” But when you think about it, these responses are pretty dumb. First of all—and this is one of few wise things my mother has told me—you never know what goes on behind closed bedroom doors. And second, no one could possibly understand the connection, or lack thereof, that two other people have. So don’t even bother to try.

I have a friend who’s a romance novelist, and her job is to persuade women to swoon over the perfectly wrong guy. This is big business. Like a billion-dollars-a-year business, and there’s a reason. If you’ve ever read a romance novel, it starts with a male protagonist who is a bit ornery and insufferable—think Jane’s Mr. Darcy—and it’s only his highly improbable and gradual softening toward the female protagonist that eventually wins her over. Doesn’t matter how many spouses and livestock and country estates are destroyed in the process of their coming together; it’s simply inevitable. Because we never get to see the happily, or unhappily, ever after, we have come to accept this as the only acceptable ending. In real life, things aren’t so simple, but try telling that to someone stuck in a Merchant Ivory fantasy.

“In real life, things aren’t so simple, but try telling that to someone stuck in a Merchant Ivory fantasy.”

So keep this in mind the next time you dispense love advice to your friends. Don’t be like me, who once judged someone’s boyfriend a little too quickly. In the end, my friend stayed with the guy and even brought him to my wedding as her date. And I had to deal with his evil glances all night, because he’d apparently heard that the busybody bride had been trash-talking him. Remember, the heart wants what it wants, it most certainly does not want you, Miss Know-it-All, getting all up in its business.

From now on, when people tell me they’re thinking of doing something crazy in the name of love, I steer them toward Hollywood for answers. Not only does this take the responsibility off my shoulders, but it makes for good entertainment.

If my friend is a hopeless romantic, I suggest Casablanca, because there’s never been a more pragmatic heroine than Ingrid Bergman, simply for getting on that plane. Or how about Serendipity, because really, what’s more interesting than having your fiancée present you with a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera, as a wedding gift, only to find out that it’s been inscribed by another person: the person you are actually supposed to be with. You know, the right person.

Wait, maybe that other person is really the wrong person? Or maybe it’s the right person from another time, another place and it isn’t meant to be right now. The point is, after you watch this movie, you realize that someone might actually be more confused than you. Which in turn makes you feel much better about your own consternation.

“We aren’t here to make things perfect. Snowflakes are perfect, stars are perfect. Not us! We’re here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die! The storybooks are bullshit!”

Still, I confess that if I’m feeling particularly reckless and think someone might be a little too practical in matters of the heart, I recommend my favorite rom-com, Moonstruck. Who could resist the charms of a 25-year-old Nick Cage with a fake hand (but a full set of hair!) standing on a Manhattan street urging a frigid (and not just from the cold) Cher to cave to love. His seduction monologue (watch the movie clip here) is heartfelt and passionate:

“Loretta, I love you. Not, not like they told you love is and I didn’t know this either. But love don’t make things nice, it ruins everything! It breaks your heart, it makes things a mess. We aren’t here to make things perfect. Snowflakes are perfect, stars are perfect. Not us! Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and break our hearts and love the wrong people and die! I mean that, the storybooks are bullshit. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and, and get in my bed!”

Cage’s dialog covers all angles and immediately takes you off the hook as the advice dispenser. After all, you aren’t telling someone to do something risky without also pointing out that they’re in for a big old mess. So one’s gonna come complaining to you when all hell breaks loose. (“I told you to do what? Not me! I just told you about one of my favorite movies!”)

Moonstruck also comes in handy when you think someone’s making a mistake but you don’t have the heart to say so. I’ve always harbored a secret fantasy about giving someone two slaps to the face while yelling “Snap out of it!” like Cher does to Cage, or to scream “Loretta, your life is going down the toilet!” like the legendary Olympia Dukakis. (Although I’ve screamed that line to myself about once a year for the past two decades, for any number of reasons.)

Of course, if I genuinely believe this liaison will end in strife—or worse, possible bloodshed—I suggest a second watching of Fatal Attraction. Because no one, I repeat no one, can dispute that a woman who cooks your pet bunny rabbit in a Dutch oven is the oh-so-wrong person.

This column originally appeared in Lady and a Red Typewriter, 2011.