The thing is usually something like : chance encounters, couples waiting decades to meet, men posing as to link gays, women who fall in love with gays, women with children who caught a rich husband, pregnant gay left her friend of all life, sponsors who share a hatred and a goddaughter just starting a family, men with children who get a sensitive woman, slim and smart co-workers who fake a relationship then becomes a reality, children who meet their parents divorced, rediscover friends as lovers lovers as people rediscover guys who fall in love brides their brothers, mothers fall in love with his daughters' boyfriends, stays on deserted islands that lead to privacy, secret lovers attending the wedding of the man / woman of your dreams, pregnancy unexpected unthinkable that unite a couple, men and women who get candid simultaneously making it clear that the feeling is mutual. Exciting final, unexpected reunion, the rain returns, rescues last minute, waiting in doorways, just off work, just imagined a thousand times becomes reality, honesty and sincerity amply rewarded. Wealthy, thin and pretty, picture light, supermarkets and shops brimming with wealth and welfare, affluent lifestyles, generations clearly marked, implicitly sexual roles established, cohesive family environments, secrets and little details, comments secrets and little details, emotional statements in front of family and / or friends, perfect moments ... I do not leave me anything. Real Life (2011) is the second film in ten years of Greg Berlanti - not to be confused with the film of the same name by Peter Hedges with Dianne Wiest and Juliette Binoche - and contains some of that jumble the previous paragraph, plus a few dialogues occurring (especially early) and a couple of gags that promise, but are not quite polished enough to consider the outcome hilarious and romantic. The rest is to be expected, is that it is unlikely, as the characters .
And now a little background Viewing: I accompanied my daughter, my niece and my sister (I know: I should have anticipated all the warning signs), and we got in a hall crowded where - I assure you - there were only three men. Still, I did mine recommendations Darwin and I adapted the environment to survive : start the session and have a good time, I laughed out loud at times ... But there comes the scene where the young and handsome players - who have taken the dog and the cat until then - curl and the public explodes in a joyous and spontaneous standing ovation ... repeated at the end of the film . understand that the gulf between the expectations of the teenagers and reality widens every title like this . The problem is not the existence of gender itself, not even the glut of quality titles to more than mediocre. The problem is that the myth of heterosexual romance rich and handsome enough to call a devoted audience in advance who thinks he is something more than fiction, something within your reach. The problem is that the romantic comedy , given its current ubiquity, subrogation threatens socializing role in the issue of relations , leaving background entertainment. The love affair is not so, now is a fable about the need to maintain consistency in adversity , clinging to traditional values \u200b\u200band, above all, above all, above all, never to betray their friends. Keeping these principles virtually assures that the boy of your dreams will come for you : that you liked in high school, the office hunk (no matter what edge that is) or any man capable of uniting in a single body the perfect combination of intelligence, beauty, humor and sensitivity. The female imagination has nothing to envy the men in to unreality.
Funny how a genre as stylistically limited argument and exhibits such a variety of stories tending to infinity. The credit, of course, is the writers . Of the spectators, what can I say? Do you admire their inexhaustible capacity to believe in happy endings? Are you confident that when the time comes, you may discern between reality and fiction? Manuel Rivas wrote that fiction serves to create more real, perhaps the new generation XXY (the label I just invented) prefer reinvest in myths that fuel the journey of solitude.
