What Happens When There's Nothing On...

After Matthew Goode gave an interview in which he basically admitted that he was in Leap Year for the money and that it was shite, I figured, well, now I have to watch it. I already knew that it was a poor excuse for a romantic comedy – the trailers had little evidence of either romance, or comedy, so that was a bad sign.

I don’t know why they keep churning out these women-aimed movies that seem to have so little in common with real women. I mean, all right, I found a random thing or two to relate to in the film, but for the most part I felt like the filmmakers had no concept of causality and were basically playing movie mad libs.

Neurotic, marriage obsessed main character [Anna] doesn’t have a ring on her finger yet because [her boyfriend is lazy?] [nagged to death?] [doesn’t care?] so we have a basic premise. In this case [she takes matters into her own hands] and [flies to Ireland to propose to him (and my film teacher told me I was unoriginal!)].

Insert hijinks here…

The [clinically insane Irishman] realizes that he can’t live without her after having known her for precisely an hour and forty-two minutes, and proposes [on top of a cliff].

Done! Time for a pint.

Here’s my unrealistic/semi-relatable romcom bingo card.

I would never board a transatlantic flight (or climb a hill) in stilettos.

If a man gave me a suitcase – brand name or otherwise – I’d smack him. I honestly don’t think I could say ‘It’s a Vuitton’ with a straight face.

I’m perfectly capable of opening a trunk. Or ‘boot’, if you’re Irish.

I would never never deprive a man of his sandwich.

I have, however, flown a car. But I stuck the landing.

I have hitched a ride in Ireland.

I have never been to a dinner party that ended with everyone making out at the table, but maybe I’ve been hanging out with the wrong kind of people.

I have tried to travel in Ireland on a Sunday, and I can tell you – it is a bitch.

I’ve never worn a gay pirate’s shirt to a wedding.

I’ve eaten – many times – at Poppie’s in Enniskerry, and I can tell you that their beef and Guiness pie is to die for.

I can’t say I’ve never fallen for a clichéd Irishman – because I so have – but, while I couldn’t understand him half the time either, it wasn’t because his accent had traces of a vaguely Germanic supervillain.

I have been proposed to by a random Irishman in a pub. If you’re out there, Johnny McDrinky, I sincerely hope that you didn’t show our ‘wedding picture’ to your mother like you were planning to, because you were blitzed.

Anything else? Oh, I’VE NEVER BASED MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE AROUND GETTING A RING ON MY FINGER AND GONE TO BATSHIT INSANE LENGTHS TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN.

God, I will be happy when every female-oriented movie doesn’t revolve around weddings, or getting him to propose, or wondering why he hasn’t proposed, or any other variation of women’s lives solely depending on diamonds and validation. I think I’m going to write a movie about a woman that doesn’t want to get married. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go think up a plot.





Dammit, this is hard.


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