Romance has often ruined the experience of watching science fiction movies for me. This ethereal genre intricately covers a holistic romance, enabling one to grab the attention of readers with deep psychological narratives together with alien technologies and of course, space travel. Criticism and frustration runs deep for everyone who is a hardcore lover for the many scoping avenues of science fiction.
Romance, albeit necessary, seems more like an uninvited guest at a celebration meant for the future. How about I share my personal understanding of how love has the ability to ruin everything Sci-fi? and how to think of romance as a negative component of science fiction.
At a young age, I would consume space operas and dystopian stories not just for entertainment, but to understand where humanity stands in the universe. I vividly recall the first time I watched *Star Wars: Attack of the Clones.* So full of imagination and excitement, It was confusing to watch Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala’s romance unfold. Just like a beautifully crafted art gallery containing a poorly framed painting, their relationship was difficult to comprehend.
The dialogue of “You’re so beautiful” followed by “It’s…what’s the word? You know, you’re not like sand!” felt so cringe inducing, completely out of place in the amazing cosmic theater. Instead of adding value to the story, their romance served the opposite purpose by taking away the audience’s attention from the complex moral issues of the war.
This made me think: why do filmmakers try to insist on putting love stories to a narrative that pertains to exploring and surviving? It’s like trying to serve filet mignon with cotton candy. In *Attack of the Clones*, the stakes were enormous.
The fate of the galaxy was at stake. And here was Anakin knee-deep into teenage dramas instead of the more pressing concerns of loyalty, conflict, and the dark clouds that surrounded his character development. I wished that the story would be more complex than just a superficial narrative with themes of sacrifice, morality, and war, because the shallow interactions were incredibly eye-roll-worthy.
The more I focused on a particular genre, the more I noticed the persistent use of romantic cliches, like ‘enemies to lovers.’ This is a well known narrative that has been used over and over again with little focus on character growth or thematic substance. Why is it that opposing characters, who are likely to loathe one another, falling in love with each other is a common theme? This ridiculous premise can often be just as reliable as a sunrise, which deprives people of enjoying the beauty of conflict.
Why do we need to turn to the ordinary when the world of science fiction presents infinite possibilities? The movie *Interstellar* is a haunting example. I can remember how my heart rate doubled in the cinema as the characters dealt with black holes and time dilation.
The first 2/3s of the film was an absolute masterpiece of suspense and the science of entertainment, but the moment I noticed the love conquers all narrative, I felt the change. The transition from a gripping portrayal of man’s struggle – and survival – against a cold universe to odd sentimentalism was almost unbearable. Even as McConaughey’s character Cooper tried to save humanity, the story began to drift in a direction that suggested love is more powerful than physics itself.
That emotional twist puzzled me. It felt like the movie had given up its sight on the existential problems and went for the more commonplace option that love can shift time and space. This revamping diluted the emotional impact of the story which had been constructed with thrilling stakes and profound questions.
Did framing love as a supernova dictate the need in a story that was so intricately complex? The romantic subplot felt like a detour from the core message and beautified the film’s earlier brilliance. Next there was *Passengers*.
I was really looking forward to seeing this film because I was eager to learn about the consequences of deep space travel and the idea of isolation. Still, the farther into the story I got, the more disappointed I became with the overdone romantic subplot. Instead of focusing on the consequences of being alone and the ethical questions related to waking someone up from cryogenic sleep, we got a poorly executed romance.
Everything that made the story so interesting was lost and replaced with a generic love story that did not address any of the important issues regarding isolation, ethics, and humanity. Thinking over these experiences has made one thing clear to me: romance in science fiction seems to be a distraction instead of an addition. The genre has the ability tackle humanity’s greatest fears and deepest aspirations; however, romance sometimes gets in the way of these themes.
For example, *Blade Runner 2049* tackles love but only within the boundaries of philosophical considerations. The K and Joi relationship does serve to pose the questions of identity and existence, but does not allow romance to distract from the film’s deeper exploration of humanity. Here, love is not at the center of the story.
Instead, it is something that is interlaced into the major story of existential inquiry. On the other hand, *The Fifth Element* has what can only be described as an absurd romantic angle. The romance of Korben Dallas and Leeloo is contrived and seems to lessen the gravity of an already galactic conflict.
Leeloo is a divinity endowed with the power to save the world and yet she is simply reduced to a romantic interest, turning into a helpless damsel. While the film has its silly charm, this particular romance makes me wonder what purpose it serves in the greater context of the narrative. Although I’m personally indifferent about romance in science fiction, I do appreciate that many others enjoy it.
For some, having characters find emotional connections in the middle of interstellar travel is a welcome break from the intricacies of the storyline. Every now and then, a little heart can make the coldness of space seem a bit more inviting. Yet, these romantic moments in the genre’s storyline mostly feel like distractions instead of additions to those who consider space as a blank canvas ready to be explored.
A great example of a film that blends romance and sci-fi is Spike Jonze’s *Her*. At first glance, it appears to be a conventional love story about Theodore and Samantha, but at a deeper level, it addresses issues around solitude, love, and human relationships in a modern world. The relationship goes beyond just being a romantic subplot; it allows us to analyze love and human relationships in the context of our modern world that is driven by technology.
Instead of being a distraction from sci-fi themes, *Her* challenges users to consider the depth of their relationships, making it a striking examination of love. In the end, I wish there was a future in fiction where romance was either integrated into the story, or removed entirely. It can focus on tackling big ideas, like existence, or the cosmos.
Romance can be a clumsy add-on, instead of a well executed side story. I think this genre can thrive if it focuses on the impossible challenges instead of the trivial pursuits of romance. As a lover of science fiction, I appreciate the ideas that help us challenge the way we see the universe and ourselves.
I wish there were narratives that offer an insight of humanity without drowning in romance. Isn’t the beauty of science fiction, the ability to inspire wonder and provoke thought, rather than predictable love stories? Why don’t we venture into the unknown, leaving romance out, or at best letting it serve as a subplot?
