Mark Kermode's Secrets of Cinema

Hello to Jason Isaacs.

The rom-com is a derided genre. Opponents dismiss it as candy floss, insubstantial confection made of hot air and sugar. It’s fairy tales for adults that need to grow up. Films for women in unhappy marriages, divorced from reality. A night out for the girls; an obligation for the boys. They are not something to be taken seriously; let alone the subject for a one hour programme.

Mark Kermode is the film reviewer on the nation’s favourite podcast The Kermode & Mayo Film Review. Primarily, Kermode’s expertise lies in horror – his thesis was on it – but his job as critic requires his analysis extend beyond the genre. Yes, he regularly reminds listeners (and Mayo) that The Exorcist is the greatest film ever made, however he’s at home praising Mary Poppins too. Kermode is a great film critic because he’s a fan first and reviewer second. Because of this he doesn’t accept pre-conceived wisdom, trusting hard-won instinct instead. Where other critics would dismiss the Twilight series as nonsense, Kermode celebrates it. Whilst snobs would cover their ears to Mama Mia, he lauds it as great entertainment. I thoroughly enjoy his reviews because they appeal to head and heart. He can be fantastically eloquent when expounding upon cinematography and mise-en-scene, but authentic too when simply saying how a film's affected him. So it really is something of a boon to have him cast his eye over the secrets of cinema.

Friday at 2pm on Radio 5.

Each week Kermode and his writing partner, the journalist Kim Newman, will be pulling back the curtain on how cinema’s great magic trick works. This week’s episode was on the rom-com; subsequent ones will include ‘heist’ and ‘horror.’ I’ve been a fan of the rom-com for awhile now. My favourite movies fall into the category: Manhattan, Sideways, The Apartment, When Harry Met Sally and Groundhog Day. I mean how a genre that boasts works by Allen, Ephron and Wilder can be dismissed defies logic. And since meeting my wife-to-be, I’ve enjoyed more commercial ones- personal favourites being Richard Curtis’. Yes, these films exist in a Neverland of contrivances, but they’re warm, witty and fun. At the cinema I’ll watch anything Kermode has recommended: horror, arthouse, foreign, drama, thriller – at home though I mainly put on a rom-com: good ones have the best dialogue of any genre; whilst being light-footed, not full of multiple plots that a working day can't unravel.

Over the hour Kermode talked us through how the genre has evolved over time. No longer are these movies purely boy meets girl. They can now be girl meets boy, girl meets girl, and – in the case of Shape of Water – girl meets fish. As social attitudes change and cinema as social commentator has evolved (what does the creature in Shape of Water tell us about our treatment of outsiders?), then so too have the romantic leads. 

He then exposes how the stories work, beginning with what the industry defines ‘The Meet Cute.’ For there to be Rom, the two have to meet- if possible in a Com way. Richard Curtis movies are particularly fairy tale in this approach: think about the famous actress entering Notting Hill’s quiet book store, or Colin Firth falling for a foreign housekeeper in Love Actually – these are ‘cute meets’ because they have an element of make-believe to them, making universal love appear surprising and unexpected. In Kermode's dissection we learn how Nora Ephron subverted ‘the meet cute,’ having Harry meet Sally without any fanfare at all. Normally, ‘the meet cute’ is a signal to the viewer that the game is afoot. However, Ephron begins her movie with Harry (Billy Crystal) kissing another woman right in front of Sally (Meg Ryan). Neither appears to care about the other. There is no instant telepathy or antipathy – the two share a car and say goodbye when they reach their destination. In fact ‘the meet cute’ in When Harry Met Sally doesn't come until later in a book store. Simply the film doesn't follow the usual steps of rom-coms. The ingredients are there, but the order isn't. As well as being a filmmaker, Ephron was a foodie: like all good cooks, she knows a little experimentation goes a long way.

Most fans of rom-coms will be aware that there’s always an obstacle the two characters must overcome. What they might not be aware of is how earlier works inspire their favourite films. A great feature of Secrets of Cinema is where Kermode juxtaposes two films in split screen, enabling you to see the similarities between the two. Miranda, a 1948 picture, is put alongside Ron Howards’ Splash- the joins are evident; what is remarkable though is how Kermode connects Paul Thomas Anderson’s Punch Drunk Love with Superman ­– despite loving the former, I never once thought it alluded to Clark Kent. And that’s the thing Kermode elucidates: how texts are interconnected; how genres crisscross and intertwine; how rom-coms elements benefit films that are dark and mysterious - like The Fly - giving them humanity amidst the cruelty.

Punch Drunk Love: Why does Barry always wear blue? Why does Lena always wear red?

Inspired by the programme, I decided to watch some rom-coms that I’d bought from charity shops ages ago and not got round to watching. The first Chico and Rita was recommended on Kermode’s podcast a while ago. I should start by saying it’s an animated movie aimed at adults – I’d never watched one of those. It’s set in Cuba during the 40’s and 50’s –a place I’d never seen in life or art. The film touched me greatly. It really is a swooning wonder, a smorgasbord for the senses, allowing you to inhale the music of the age, digest the politics of the period. The 'meet cute' of the characters follows convention, with Chico’s eyes meeting Rita’s across a busy music venue. Both are musicians: for Chico the piano is the thing; for Rita it’s the voice. Soon the pair go from being bedroom partners to musical ones; but when Rita is thrust into the spotlight (obstacle) problems arise. Considering Kermode’s episode, I saw how the rom-com has become more nuanced. In earlier movies, the obstacle was often physical: another man or woman often got in the way. Now, it’s more existential: one of the leads has a crisis of confidence that throws the romance off course. Also, I saw within the film allusions to Casablanca: in a nightmare scene Chico is re-cast as Sam, forced to play the same tune over and over again; later, the camera lingers on an airplane – this time though the airport scene is bitter as opposed to sweet- and later there’s an unexpected reunion, only less ambiguous than its influence.

Chico and Rita.

Another movie I spun was The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. I bought this because I know it was an influence on Damien Chazelle’s La La Land – which I thoroughly enjoyed. The 1964 film is something of a surprise because the whole thing is sung. Having never been to the opera, initially I was thrown. Normally musicals oscillate between dialogue and song, which allows for the numbers to register more emphatically. In Umbrellas the music is more about mood than declaration; less about standing out, more about drawing in. Over time a doublethink is achieved: you recognise it as part of the fairy tale element of rom-com, yet by having it maintained throughout, director Jacques Demy makes it seem ordinary too. A good-rom com then should simultaneously feel typical and atypical: typical enough to register the emotions, the feeling of ‘I’ve felt that’; atypical so the characters seem larger than life, people to aspire to. For a picture to work it has to square the circle of holding a mirror up to reality whilst offering an escape from it.

As for what Umbrellas is inspired by, I would hazard a guess that Demy had seen Singin’ In The Rain. In that film the umbrellas were a prop, something to twirl and unfurl; however, in Umbrellas the parapluies are a symbol: the film features an umbrella store where our heroine works, as long as it’s there our lovers are safe, insulated from life's rain; however when it's sold later, their love crumbles, the elements prove too strong; the Gods have won.

Never having made a film himself, Kermode is no magician. He's never turned his wavy hands to the magic of filmmaking. Yet he deserves a place in its magic circle because he’s done more to promote the craft than 'successful' directors. In championing celluloid's genuine rabbit-pullers; in promoting starter kit amateurs; in challenging cinema's false mediums, he more than deserves his place at the table. In revealing illusionists secrets, he’s elevated them, making us grasp how truly extraordinary they are. An extra seat, alongside Friedkin, should be granted. Failing that, Michael Bay can give up his - and Kermode can sit there.

The Secrets of Cinema is on BBC 4, Tuesday at 9pm