CHAPTER 1
“I suppose I think about murder more than anyone really should.I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives.”
—NotThe Holiday
All’s Fair in Love and Gore: The Intersection of Romantic Comedies and Slasher Films in the Late Twentieth and Early Twenty-First Centuries
While slasher and rom-com films may draw harsher criticism than other genres, the sociocultural impact of these types of films cannot be understated.There’s a reason they both have a pull at the box office.A reason why, despite the turbulent swing of audience taste and film trends over the years, for everyHalloweenthat’s been produced, there’s been a Julia Roberts–fronted “will they/won’t they” to match (see appendix 1).
From a behavioral standpoint it could be argued that slashers and rom-coms maintain their permanency within the cinema landscape by the way their predictable outcomes appeal to basic instinctual human needs.Coincidentally (orperhaps not), the textbook endings within each genre align with consecutive stages of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: slashers—safety and security; rom-coms—love and belonging (see appendix 2).Put simply, these films give us something we all inherently want: a life to live and a reason to live it.
However, the inherent structural similarities between these two ostensibly opposed genres suggest far wider applications could be obtained from not just their individual study but a complementary investigation.A more in-depth consideration of these films reveals that they follow an analogous format, one that contains certain rules.If the protagonists follow those rules, they win.In slashers, they live.In rom-coms, they find love.If they don’t follow the rules, they lose.For slashers, that means getting decapitated in some gruesome, yet satisfying, way (often while topless).For a rom-com, losing leads to crying in the rain outside an unrequited love’s house, doomed to be alone and sexless forever.Either of these scenarios could apply to countless classics within the slasher and rom-com repertoire of the late twentieth century.While these films are dismissed in some circles for an apparent lack of depth and a heavy reliance on tropes, audiences continue to come back for more.
Consider this dissertation a genealogical study of slashers and rom-coms; distant cousins stuck in the same generational cycle.Influenced and precast by their predecessors.Destined to repeat the tropes and clichés of their pa—
“I just don’t see what point you’re trying to make here, Jamie.”
Laurie lifts her gaze from the computer screen, russet-brown eyes squinting over to where I’m perched on the breakfast bar in my garlic bread–patterned blanket hoodie.I’ve been watching her read the introduction of my dissertation like I’m Norman Bates, but insteadof observing her through a peephole it’s from behind the lenses of my blue light glasses.
“I think you need to choose one,” she adds.
I squint back at her.
“Choose one what?”
There’s a slight pull in my gut that tells me I know what she’s going to suggest, but then my soft little heart assures me that she’s my friend—my best friend ever since we met in our Intro to Cinema Studies tutorial at NYU during the first semester of our freshman year.And she wouldn’t be so cruel and thoughtless and just plain fuckingwron—
“Slasherorrom-com.”
The offended, strangled scream that escapes my mouth wouldn’t be out of place in Snyder’sDawn of the Deadremake.Considering how many hours of sleep I missed to work on that opening page, I could double as an undead extra, too.
“That’s the wholepointof my research, Laurie!”
“I just don’t think they go together.”
“I’m not saying theygotogether.I’m saying their intrinsic purpose within the collective discipline of film and their formulaic structures are thesame.”
At least that was how I sold the idea—verbatim—to my adviser.
She turns her eyes back to the screen, tilts her head.
“I don’t see it.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I growl, pointing an almond-shaped, beige gel-tipped nail at her.I got them done yesterday, and I hope they help prove my point.“Because you’re an uninspired, documentary-loving, elitist piece of shit.”
She turns in her chair and points a longer, pointier, fully natural red nail back at me.She had them done this morning, and their effect cannot be denied.
“I amnotelitist.”
She doesn’t argue about the other parts.We’ve been friends for too long, lived together in an apartment so small every bowel movement, orgasm, and opinion has been shared, willingly or unwillingly.
This is just a normal Tuesday afternoon.
“Laurieeeee,” I whine, dropping my head into my fleece-covered lap.The heatless curling ribbon I’ve wrapped my blond hair into jostles around my ears as I brace my feet against the bar stool to avoid toppling over.I don’t want to add injury to her insult.
I’ve been slaving away on the groundwork of my dissertation for a year.My first draft is due in a month, and she doesn’t get it.Granted, Laurie’s deepest desire is to spend her years making films that document aspects ofreal life.She has no interest in grand romantic gestures or gratuitous violence.Her film preferences extend to an in-depth expository of the daily lives of nomadic sheep farmers and, I don’t know… paint drying?
“I like the title!”she says, and that’s probably the closest I’ll get to consolation.Laurie’s not really a demonstrative person.Last year, when my parents called to tell me Cujo, the King Charles spaniel we’d had since I was twelve, had died at the tragically young age of fourteen, she gave me a firm handshake.Surprisingly, it did make me feel better.
