Leaving Las Vegas is Romance Fiction Written by a Man.
My first point begins by pointing out the obvious; most romance fiction is written by women. Asking why that is, however, may take us into some interesting thoughts.
Primarily, if one was to reframe the question as; why don’t more men write romance novels? Certainly not because they’re tricky to write.
I say that as someone who’s never tried to write formula. To me, it is harder to write romance formula than it looks. But I also have no interest. The first comparison that comes to mind is my own learning in chemistry. I am really fascinated by the big picture ideas — or even the small details as they can be represented in sentences — but if you asked me to write a formula for the atomic numbering and how elements combine not only do I find the math hard I fundamentally don’t understand what is trying to be accomplished.
In any case you will agree that most romance novels are written by women. This could be chalked up to the fact that most writers and (fiction) readers are women. All I’m trying to say here is John O’Brien, the writer of Leaving Las Vegas was a bittersweet romantic — just not in the way we are typically exposed to romance. Whereas (it seems) many female readers feel comforted by formula; the look and feel of masculine romance has to appear chaotic. This is not to say that the characters are not just as formulaic — but the romance in question cannot be the endgame for the characters.
At least I did a lot of reflecting because I found Leaving Las Vegas to be very romantic.
Now I will explain why that statement makes me deranged by explaining the plot. But also, in my defense, the story seems to come right out of the Romance era of fiction — in the style of Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther.
Nicholas Cage’s character in the film, Ben Sanderson, drinks himself to death in Las Vegas. After being let go from his job as a screenwriter, for faults entirely his own, his boss kindly gives him a large severance. In Las Vegas Ben bumps into a prostitute, Sera, in the middle of her shift. He hires Sera (Elizabeth Shue in the film) to come back to his motel room but he’s really too drunk to do anything sexual and they end up just lying next to each other.
Later, Sera sort of adopts Ben in a romantic spurt of loneliness brought on by the other complications in her life … which I’m not going to get into but involves a pimp handler. If you want the whole story go read the book (or watch the film) for yourself.
What was spinning around in my brain were the real details of John O’Briens suicide and how Ben says to Sera, “Don’t ask me to stop drinking.” Which I equated to; “you don’t tell me how to be me, I won’t tell you how to be you. No demands or expectations.”
Why is such a sentiment seemingly best represented in extreme characters? An alcoholic who even by his own admission cannot really remember why or when he decided he wanted to die. A prostitute whose fate never seemed in her own control. Lost for the same reasons.
This manifested as a different question; are the male and female versions of romance different from each other? I think that they are — especially if one looks at the edges of the spectrum.
No female written romance novel would feature an essentially impotent and hopeless drunk. If there are two versions of romance at the edges, the one I categorize as feminine (though I can imagine either gender being attracted to either extreme) what I will call the feminine idea of romance is where both couples become a success, together.
The weirder, masculine ‘romantic vision’ is the couple wallowing together in failure, or, outside of all expectation entirely.
Why that is probably has a lot to do with the default in male sexuality. Scared, sometimes, about the idea of female pleasure. Failing, again.
The 50 Shades of Grey type sexual bdsm (feminine) fantasy is about the man giving you lots of attention. The woman is arrested by the lengths the man will go to grasp her full attention. The true deviant side of the male fantasy is something like how much we can get away with ignoring you and still have a woman in our lives. How much the failures of our convictions will still stand in the tide of time.
I dunno, I spent way too much time letting this article sit, waiting for it to get more profound; I’m not really sure why I wanted to talk about it. Other than a weird offering on the way romance can feel strange, deadly.
And how writer’s like John O’Brien, who decided to check out before the universe kicked them out, tap into a romantic essence on loving the failures and being okay with their indulgences.
