1
The Irresistible S’more of Dramedy
By Jordan La Pier
You have just bought your movie tickets and you’re headed down the dark corridor toward your theater. Your girlfriend, who made you come here and made you see a sappy thoughtless chick flick, has her arm wrapped around you. Curious about what you are missing, you walk toward the side of the hallway, looking through the tiny windows in the theater doors. There is an action movie, a cartoon, and something more interesting. You stop suddenly to take a longer look. On the screen, several scenes go by in rapid succession, all of a woman crying. She is crying at her desk, in the shower, on her bed, on the beach, and much more. All the while, the audience laughs hysterically. You rub your eyes, thinking the woman must not really be crying, or else the audience couldn’t be laughing. There has to be a mistake, right?
But the view doesn’t change. The woman still cries profusely, making a large collection of Kleenex on her desk, and the audience still screams its laughter. ‘What kind of strange movie is this?’ you think. Your girlfriend tugs at your waist.
“Come on, we’re going to miss our movie!”
You snap back to reality and start walking again. As you go, you take a look at the sign outside the door. The movie is called Something’s Gotta Give. This film, along with others like Lost in Translation, Amelie, and As Good as it Gets, has received a great deal of praise recently, winning nominations and awards at such prestigious ceremonies as the Golden Globes and Academy Awards. All these films fall into the newly-defined genre of “dramedy.” Dramedy has existed in some form or another for some time, but just recently have people started to classify it outside the constraints of conventional drama or comedy. According to Walter Sorell in his book Facets of Comedy, “even plays with tragic endings are permeated with humor and marked as comic experience” (viii). This analysis still holds true today, even when applied to motion pictures rather than theatre. Dramedy relies on characters rather than plot to develop its twin components of drama and comedy.
As Roger Ebert wrote in his review of the 2003 Academy Award-winning film Lost in Translation, a dramedy should be “sweet and sad at the same time it is sardonic and funny” (par. 1). To explain this statement in a more user-friendly way, perhaps we can make an analogy. Everybody likes desserts. No one can easily resist that offer of a dessert menu at a restaurant, or the dessert table at a buffet, or the glowing Dairy Queen sign in the middle of the night, or that collection of goodies at the family gathering. There are a multitude of excellent dessert choices—it might be tiramisu, carrot cake, apple pie, a banana split, a strawberry or hot fudge sundae, or possibly a skillet cookie. If the occasion is a family cookout, then the choice is undoubtedly a S’more. As described in the classic movie The Sandlot, the graham cracker, chocolate bar, and roasted marshmallow collide, forming a classic campfire delicacy. Dramedy is much the same—the chocolate bar of comedy and the melted marshmallow of drama form an irresistible combination. This mixture produces a very authentic picture of its characters’ lives.
Image courtesy
But it is not enough to just say that dramedy creates realism or that it authenticates real life. We must look at exactly how dramedy does this, and it can do so in many different ways, but in analysis, something of a trend emerges. The aspects of drama and comedy develop not in the plot, but within the characters themselves. It can then be said that this genre is, rather than being plot-driven like most are, an overwhelmingly character-driven genre. The complexity and variety emerge when looking at the characters, not the plot. Let us look at four recent dramedies, each arguably similar to the others in superficial plot. This similarity will help to underscore the visible contrasts in the conveyance of aspects of drama and comedy. On the surface, these films may appear very similar, not varying much in storyline or plot and not appearing all that original.
But a deeper exploration into the caves of these films shows a lot more substance than the small openings suggest. Hidden behind the barely-large enough punctures in the rock faces are vast caverns, waiting to be discovered. So, looking again first at Nancy Meyers’ film Something’s Gotta Give, we see that Diane Keaton’s Erica Barry, in these moments of fitful, prolonged crying, serves both a dramatic and comedic purpose. Obviously, the reaction dramatically conveys her deep distress upon ending her short relationship with Jack Nicholson’s Harry Sanborn—she is understandably distraught after taking a big risk by opening herself up to love again, changing from an uptight, turtleneck-wearing matron to a carefree and re-energized lover, and getting hurt by the renaissance.
Image courtesy www3.soneraplaza.fi
But while this emotion may be entirely realistic, Keaton manages to portray it in such a melodramatic fashion that it progresses the comedic storyline as well. The overreaction to the situation stands in such sharp contrast to her previous personality that no matter how serious it might seem, although it does not, it conveys comedy. The emotion also allows her to write her play, A Woman to Love, which creates comic tension between herself and Harry. Harry’s personal struggle with his transformation from a connoisseur of younger women and a seeming bigot to a sensitive, mature man capable of truly loving a woman, serves much the same purpose by the same method of duality—to advance the parallel storylines within the movie through their emotional parallels: the dramatic and the comedic. Ultimately, Something’s Gotta Give uses duality in its characters to project drama and comedy. Each character has a turn representing both facets, often simultaneously.
In Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation, however, there are no dual stories of drama and comedy. The comedic and the dramatic appear to blend together into one coherent tale. The mechanism here focuses on the social and demographic contrast of the two main characters and their unlikely quasi-romance. This idea is hinted at in the opening sequences of the movie. The opening shot is the movie title placed atop the scantily clad behind of Scarlett Johansson’s Charlotte. Immediately following that is Bill Murray’s Bob Harris, fighting sleep in the back seat of a taxi. “By juxtaposing the two shots…Coppola hints at the romance to follow” (Smith 12). The significance is that immediately the viewer sees the connection of these two people, which could have been totally separate stories by themselves, thus creating one workable hybrid. Bob functions as the catalyst for humor in the movie, through his melancholy sarcasm and occasional sharp wit, which shines through during the production of the television commercial and print advertising.
Image courtesy
It is not that Bob is an un-dramatic character at all; his inner struggle displays a very pure and touching variety of drama. But this struggle really comes into focus through the words and actions of Charlotte. She is the main producer of the dramatic. When she probes Bob for advice or insight, or shows how much she truly values his friendship, the viewer sees real drama. When she goes to the monastery or to the flower shop, the viewer feels her emptiness. Unlike in Something’s Gotta Give, which allows its characters to be overwhelmingly diverse in their emotions, representing both comedy and drama, even in the same actions, Lost in Translation creates two contrasting personalities which seem to stand for each of the emotional aspects of drama and comedy. The intricate weaving of their two stories into one makes it dramedy.
A third technique, but actually our first example chronologically, appears in the 1997 film As Good as it Gets. James Brooks’ two central characters interchange roles throughout the movie. This is similar in some ways to the universal variability in Something’s Gotta Give, but it is slightly different in that the two characters do not simultaneously embody the same aspect. One cannot easily point to a time where comedy and drama are produced by the same action. The back and forth battle of their dialogue mirrors the back and forth battle of comedy versus drama. However, in contrast, as Melvin and Carol’s relationship develops and becomes more stable and mutually respectful, the tug of war between them for control of comedy becomes more pronounced.
Initially, Jack Nicholson’s Melvin Udall presents the comedic aspect of the movie with his biting sarcasm and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. This is highlighted early in the film when he washes his hands using several bars of soap. Melvin sharply contrasts Helen Hunt’s Carol Connelly, who begins the film as the harbinger of drama with her single-parent struggles. The two clash in the first twenty minutes of the movie at the restaurant, resulting in Melvin’s exile from the establishment but beginning his renaissance, which then becomes the focus of the film. Melvin becomes the dramatic centerpiece of the film and Carol takes a turn at being the more comedic, pushing Melvin to be more accepting of his gay neighbor, Greg Kinnear’s Simon Bishop. This definition of alternating roles exists clearly for most of the film, although toward the end of the movie, the technique evolves to one similar to Something’s Gotta Give, because the lines of transition become less pronounced.
However, the separation between drama and comedy is not always as clearly evident as these examples. In Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s 2001 French-language film Amelie, or Le fabuleaux destin d’Amélie Poulain, Audrey Tautou’s Amelie Poulain sets out on her quest to make people happy in any way she can after finding a box hidden in her apartment. The ensuing internal and external journeys for Amelie appear to be, and in actuality are, a chaotic and irregular mixture of drama and comedy.
Image courtesy
Amelie Poulain herself acts as a vehicle for both, as do many of the diverse characters, but not in any formulaic or identifiable pattern. The initial sadness and drama of Amelie’s family life is later replaced by her incredible optimism and determination to improve others’ lives. These actions become comedic not necessarily in a conventional way, but through their positive outlook on life. What can we then infer from this break in our neat patterns and identifications? We see clearly here that although there may be some order and structure to dramedy and its methods of combining drama and comedy, it is certainly not a necessity.
All this talk of using the characters as carriers for drama and comedy makes sense and explains how dramedies work, but it does not explain why anyone would ever go to see one. But we are not far from answering this question. The solution lies, again, in the characters. A good writer knows that a character must do much more than represent an idea or stand for a principle—that personality must have personality. A vehicle cannot talk, have feelings, or draw in a viewer, but a realistic persona can do just that. The characters in dramedy, being the main focus of the film, represent personalities familiar and understandable to the viewer. Some would be able to identify directly or sympathize with the inward or outward predicaments of the characters. All of our examples of films thus far could be categorized, if following the techniques of V. Ulea as laid out in the appendix to Concept of Dramatic Genre and the Comedy of a New Type, as optimistic dramedy. Ulea’s table shows that characters in such movies will demonstrate powerful, positive inner and outer strength, further highlighting the importance of characters in dramedy (172).
Characters of dramedy fall into the same mold as the typical comedic hero. They are classic “everypeople.” Their realities and problems are palpable and identifiable. The struggles, although they may seem trivial in the great scope of the world, are the most important and trying things in their lives. Helen Hunt’s Carol Connelly in As Good as it Gets fights as a single mother working as a waitress to provide for her son, who is an asthmatic. This problem is small—it is not the dilemma of a superhero, a world leader, or a celebrity. But this problem is also not so small—it has real emotional impact and induces sympathy because it is true. There is a Carol Connelly out there in the world. In fact, there is more than one.
Jack Nicholson’s Melvin Udall represents a long-standing stereotype. He is the conventional crotchety old man, not willing to conform to today’s more accepting and embracing social and moral views. He is leery of tolerating single mothers, African-Americans, and gays, people that were not as socially equal twenty years ago as they are today. Eventually that stereotype is broken, and he realizes the ridiculousness of his former mindset. We have all seen this man in our lives; he lives on your street, or next door to your friend’s house, or across from your school.
The independent dramedy film Gosford Park, directed by Robert Altman, features a wide array of personalities. Essentially what movies like this try to do, and we see this quite prolifically in cinema, is to create a small microcosm of society. The characters encompass a broad cross-section of social and economic classes, coming from entirely different backgrounds and also representing a plethora of stereotypes. They are all thrown into the same situation and dramedy ensues. A viewer can decide which characters she prefers and which ones should be hated, based on how they relate.
Image courtesy
Lost in Translation also wonderfully exemplifies the reality of dramedy characters, mostly because they were written specifically to be realistic people that we all know. An old saying for writers claims that a writer is most successful when she writes about what she knows. In fact, Sofia Coppola, in an interview with Mark Olsen, reiterates this, saying:
“I probably relate to Bob as much as to Charlotte. And the film is based on other people too, as well as on parts of me from different phases of my life” (14).
Image courtesy cinemas.w.interia.pl
Bob represents the typical middle-aged man, unsatisfied with his life thus far and caught in a family life that seems to be unfulfilling. His wife stays more occupied and concerned with carpet samples than her husband’s mental well-being, and offers no comfort in his time of searching. In other words, he is a midlife crisis in action. Charlotte stands as an example of a standard newlywed, questioning her decision to marry a man from an entirely different background than her own and learning who her husband truly is—in this case a self-centered workaholic more interested in making the right friends in the business than in filling the voids in his wife’s life—afraid of what the next twenty-five years of her life will bring.
Jack Nicholson’s Warren Schmidt in Alexander Payne’s 2002 film About Schmidt also feels lost in his life. All the people around him are “leaving” him—his wife has passed away and his daughter is about to get married. Warren’s pleas to stop the marriage are ultimately fruitless, and his problem is compounded by the strange romantic advances by the groom’s mother, Kathy Bates’ Roberta Hertzel. Many people have felt that same sentiment of solitude and loneliness, thinking life lacks purpose. As he realizes that he has nine years to live, the viewer realizes that the mere fact that he wants to figure that out means unless something changes those nine years will not be happy ones. These types of characters feel that “they have built their lives on false ideals, and…become consumed by feelings of rage and impotence” (“Schmidt” 44).
Although it may seem that most people would not want to see their own emotional struggles played out onscreen, it can actually be a positive experience. The viewer, if she allows herself the opportunity, can usually find happiness through these characters because in the end, they typically find their way and redefine their lives. This is not to suggest, and in doing so severely exaggerate its importance, that dramedy is therapeutic cinema.