Rom-Com Month: High Fidelity (Dir. Stephen Frears, 1h 55m, 2000)

It's arguable that the 1990s and early 2000s are the high-tide mark for the romantic comedy; this, after all, is the decade that brought Clueless (previously reviewed in September 2020 by yours truly), a retelling of Austin's Emma in Californian suburbia, Sleepless in Seattle, Pretty Woman, and the one-two punch of Four Weddings and a Funeral, and Notting Hill that cemented Hugh Grant as a 90s female heart-throb. But it is also the decade and a half where the darker, weirder side of the genre begins to reveal itself. Kevin Smith's Chasing Amy is practically a, at turns, dark pastiche and saccarine mismanagement of the classic rom-com tropes, whilst 1990's Wild at Heart is a smart crossover between rom-com and heist, whilst the crasser and darker ends of the genre are held up (admirably) by There's Something About Mary and the bleakly funny Grosse Pointe Blank.

It's fair to say, however, that most of these operate inside, even if they make some token effort to subvert or play with, the tropes of the rom-com-a few feel like they're skating the fine edge of what the genre can-or indeed-should be, but these are in the minority; perhaps none, though capture this ability to be the anti-Rom-Com like 2000's High Fidelity, an adaption of the Nick Hornby novel. Transplanted from London to Chicago, the film follows John Cusack as Rob Gordon, the owner of a vaguely cultish record shop lorded over by him and his similarly music nerdish assistants, Jack Black's Barry, and Dick (Todd Louiso), whilst whilst trying to win back the affection of Laura (Iben Hjejle), and revisiting, via his obesssive creation of lists, his previous partners.

High Fidelity, though, begins by utterly subverting the very structure of the Rom-Com-there's, to be fair, a rather on-rails concept to the rom-com in general which we've already discussed in some detail, but, by beginning the film with the breakup of Rob and Laura's relationship, something that the average rom-com would leave till its second, or indeed even third act, the film practically wrong-foots the very formula of the entire genre from the get-go. This explosive introduction, which sees the duo row, and Laura eventually leave, to be bawled at from his flat window by Rob, is book-ended by perhaps the film's two key signature elements. First, Cusack-as-Rob's pieces to camera-a key element of the book, and a perfect cinematic way to present the nigh-obsessive lists of the film, but also a perfect way to bring Rob's inner monologue to life. He is a man, from the very first scene, caught up in his own world view, to the extent that he brings the entire narrative to a standstill for his own introspection.

With Laura gone, and with Rob beginning to reconsider his previous relationships, in flashbacks that are entwined with the first half of the film, we cut to the mundanity of Rob's everyday life in the record shop, as the film turns to its other key focus, that of music geekdom. It's also here that Barry and Dick begin to utterly steal the show as characters in the music-focused sections of the film, whilst Rob, quite obviously, dominates the half that focuses on romantic comedy. It's not for nothing that High Fidelity is often credited with the film that launched Black's career as serious actor, after all, and the back-and-forth badinage between the trio of record obsessives carries many of the scenes between the romantic backstory, their in-depth knowledge, and at multiple points, their elitism and dismissive reactions to customers highlighting just how emotionally stunted Rob's social life outside of romance is.

There is, undeniably though, a warmth, inherent from the original Hornby novel, for music-if Rob actually loves anything, it is his records-we see him, at one point, engage in obsessively recataloging the records "autobiographically", so that his entire past, including relationships, are woven into the music he so clearly has a passion for. Not only does this surface on the soundtrack, where the familiar and the deepcut sit side by side, but by the way the film is practically drenched in music fandom, from an absolutely bizarre appearance by the Boss himself to shout-outs to famous records-at one point, Barry practically guides a musical neophyte through setting up his record collection, whilst Rob hawks off several copies of cult Scottish alt-rock band The Beta Band's Three EPs simply by pressing play on it. Not only this, but Rob eventually takes local troublemakers' band, Kinky Wizards under his wing, and finally allows Barry to express himself creatively.

But like the best kind of songs, like the best kind of records, the film keeps returning to its romantic refrain. We see Rob explore his previous relationships in interludes, practical escapism from the mundanity of his life, as he seeks solace in the past, we see him stuck, unable to move beyond Laura, obsessing on the details of her assumed relationship with neighbour Ian/Ray, and seeking (unsuccessful) solace in the musician Marie DeSalle (Lisa Bonet, whose real life daughter, Zoe Kravitz plays Robyn in the limited series reimagining of the book). Eventually, reluctantly, he begins to track down his former lovers, finding that most of them are far from what he imagined, or held up-most notably Catherine Zeta Jones' utterly unhinged and clearly out of Rob's league oddball, Charlie.

But it is with Laura that the film begins to pull together; her reappearances in the flat from time to time are often accompanied by music, and it is her that supports his interest in music, bringing him back to DJ-ing, promoting his band, and eventually making up and moving back in together as their friendship, and eventually relationship, comes back to life. Their relationship, for all its comic dysfunctionality, works, because Laura respects, and, yes, loves Rob's passion for music almost as much as Rob loves the medium.

Whilst it may run antithesis to so many of the other, more wholesome, more straightforward romantic comedies of the late 90s and early 2000s, it is a film made with a clear love of its medium, its anti-hero, and, yes, his love interest, though its disdain for the typical structure, focus and moral of the romantic comedy are clear. What results is not just a darkly funny meditation on masculinity and relationships between men and women, but also a film that is at turns heartening, and faintly alarming in the dysfunctionality of its protagonist, and the women-and records-he has loved. 

Rating: Highly Recommended

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