In defense of Love Actually, for the people who are tired of the endless backlash

Every year in December, my husband and I make time to sit down and rewatch Love Actually. And every year, we’re reminded of the backlash against it.

It’s not just us who love this film, despite what numerous Medium posts and angry tweets may have you think. This year, Diane Sawyer hosted the TV special The Laughter & Secrets of Love Actually: 20 Years Later. (The film came out in 2003, so technically, it won’t be 20 full years later until next year… but I suppose sometimes love can’t wait.) She sat down with some of the film’s stars — including Emma Thompson, Hugh Grant, Laura Linney, Thomas Brodie-Sangster, Olivia Olson (the little girl who sings “All I Want For Christmas Is You” like an absolute pro), and, of course, director and writer Richard Curtis — to revisit memories of making the film and collect some behind-the-scenes nuggets in the process.

According to Sawyer, audiences of the film have now spent a combined 4.6 billion minutes watching Love Actually (and to that, I say: Well done, team). And per Google Trends, online searches for its title have peaked reliably every December since 2013. In other words, it took a decade after the film’s original release for nostalgia to set in, and it’s been going strong ever since.

It’s also been a source of commentary every since — and the angle of that commentary has become pretty predictable. As Love Actually’s popularity boomed, and as it was elevated from the rank of cute Christmas rom-com to that of nostalgic classic, the Love Actually backlash began. Year after year, we sit down and write (and read) articles highlighting its failings. The movie is messed-up, we are told. It’s sexist, and it has weird ideas about love and romance. It is “the most despicable holiday movie of them all”; to some, it’s even “the most repellent festive film ever made.”

And, look. The movie is not perfect. It is often sexist. It certainly has… creative ideas about love and romance. There are plenty of valid criticisms to be made here. Alan Rickman’s character is a walking HR violation. Sarah’s storyline didn’t need to end like that. And don’t even get me started on Juliet’s final kiss with Mark.

But this year, I am leaning into my inner Love Actually apologist. And so, I give you: the backlash to the backlash, or the case for Love Actually.

This movie didn’t accidentally end up populated with bumbling idiots. It knows what it’s trying to do, and it does it well. This is such a crucial part of the film’s success that it astounds me it isn’t talked about more.

Love Actually knows its characters are sometimes stupid, selfish, and cruel. It’s not trying to get us to love them all. But I don’t need to love a character to be entertained or invested in their behavior. Alan Rickman’s character, Harry, for instance? Oh my god! This f***ing guy! Every year, I look forward to hating him a little bit more as he cheats (emotionally, possibly physically) on his lovely wife and gives her that fateful Joni Mitchell CD for Christmas. And every year, I look forward to his reaching the only appropriate conclusion when he proclaims himself a “classic fool.”

The film is full of little (but crucial) clues that we shouldn’t take it too seriously, because it certainly doesn’t. Consider the moment when Andrew Lincoln’s character Mark (a.k.a the guy who is revealed to be hopelessly in love with his best friend’s new wife) is shown working at an art gallery filled with oddly sexual, holiday-themed collages. A group of teenagers giggle in front of one of the images; Mark, way too sternly, reminds them the images aren’t supposed to be funny, they’re art. In that scene, he doesn’t come off as particularly likable – if anything, he’s embittered, oblivious to the moments of comedy around him. In the background, nipples covered by pointy Santa hats loom. We are not supposed to be with Mark here. We are supposed to be judging him.

Similarly, when Harry attempts to buy a necklace for a woman who is not his wife (but who is his employee), his plans are initially felled by Rufus, the finicky store clerk sublimely portrayed by Rowan Atkinson. Rufus simply can’t stop wrapping the piece of jewelry in an increasingly elaborate assemblage of flowers, ribbons, and – yes – a cinnamon stick. Our sympathies here are not with Harry. We find it hilarious that he’s being forced into such an awkward position while displaying poor marital behavior. Harry is not supposed to be our hero.

And who could forget Hugh Grant’s classic dance as Prime Minister David, so giddy to have put the US president in his place he doesn’t even notice the Downing Street employee watching him from the other side of the room? These moments aren’t just small bits of comic relief; they signify that even by the movie’s own standards, and in the film’s own universe, these characters are prone to seeming ridiculous. David is problematic, yes. That’s why he doesn’t escape his own moment of personal embarrassment.

This is especially meaningful, say, in a storyline like Juliet (Keira Knightley)’s: at no point do we get the feeling that she married the wrong guy and should instead be with her husband’s best friend, who’s been pining after her for ages, perhaps years. Mark comes off as a bit of a poor sap in a terrible position. We can feel sorry for him without condoning his behavior. We can relate to his experience of unrequited love while also admitting he’s a goddamn terrible friend in that moment. Mark is not, however, an irredeemable psychopath, despite the protestations of many. He’s spent most of his time trying to stay away from Juliet. He arranged a pretty lovely wedding surprise for his friend and his bride. He’s only found out by mistake. Did Juliet owe him that kiss? No! But the fact that the movie makes space for unrequited love that doesn’t work out is, frankly, refreshing in a sea of films that present such pining as a mere obstacle to the inevitable fairytale ending.

OK, so, yes. Being a lady in the Love Actually multiverse is somewhat of a raw deal. It means dealing with fickle, lame, even obnoxious men. I have almost nothing but affection for Hugh Grant’s character David, except when he reassigns his assistant Natalie because he’s in love with her and can no longer bear to be in the same room as her for a variety of misguided reasons. That’s messed-up, and I won’t try to argue otherwise. It’s also a choice that is clearly shown to be bad and one that he seeks to rectify. One character doing a bad thing should not a moral outrage make.

However, the movie often also gives its female characters the moral high ground. When Emma Thompson’s Karen confronts Harry about his behavior, she does so in a profoundly raw, yet dignified manner that makes Karen’s pain the gravitational center of the scene. She has been hurt, yes, and she is justified – and, as the final scene suggests, the one who will eventually decide on the fate of her and Harry’s marriage.

I’d also ask detractors to re-examine the scene in which the extremely goofy Colin (Kris Marshall) finally lands in the US, with a plan to get laid using the sole force of his English accent. And it works! Three attractive women (Stacey, Jeannie, and Carol-Anne, played respectively by Ivana Miličević, January Jones, and Elisha Cuthbert) throw themselves at him as soon as he walks into a dive bar in (of all places) Wisconsin. They soon arrange for him to spend the night with all three of them, plus their fourth roommate, “the sexy one” (Harriet, portrayed by Shannon Elizabeth). And by the way, they all share one bed — and they can’t afford pajamas.

It’s easy to see this scene as offensively sexist. Surely the ladies involved are beyond naive for falling so easily for this random guy. They’re so unbelievable as to be two-dimensional. They exist only for Colin’s pleasure and for tying a neat bow around his storyline. Right? Right?!

Well, perhaps. But, taken from another perspective, Colin is the idiot in this scene – not the women. Throughout this sequence (and possibly the entire movie) he does absolutely nothing that could be described as brilliant or remarkable. He’s not a misguided pickup artist, trying out lame tactics until they stick. He sits there while the women take the lead. They see the guy, decide they want to have group sex with him, and they make it happen. They are in charge, not only of this particular situation, but, clearly, of their sex lives. I can live with that.

Possibly because it’s a rom-com, Love Actually has become enmeshed in the general category of cheesy Christmas movies. To which I say: Excuse me? Did we watch the same film?

Most Christmas movies ask us to believe that everything will work itself out at Christmas. These saccharine pieces of Hallmark-approved unreality paper over any cracks of awkwardness or family difficulties with “Christmas miracles”. Sure, mishaps will happen, hearts might get broken — but come December 25th, everything will fall into place.

Love Actually does none of that. Instead, it acknowledges a much more profound truth: that things won’t be perfect just because it’s the holiday season. Real life won’t stop. Your brother will need you (if you’re the character played by Laura Linney), or he will sleep with your girlfriend (if you happen to be played by Colin Firth). Your spouse will cheat on you and get you a subpar gift. The object of your affections won’t magically leave the spouse to whom she is happily married. Your sick wife will still die. Your first crush will move away.

I find it profoundly comforting to have one movie acknowledge that this holiday can be wonderful, but it can also be messed-up. Love Actually is the opposite of sentimental. That doesn’t mean it’s devoid of sweetness or meaning. But it does mean that its characters are gloriously imperfect and its storylines don’t all come to a satisfying conclusion. If anything, those moments of sweetness and meaning stand out even more against what is, at the end of the day, a fairly realistic (but zany) backdrop.

That, right here, is my true holiday spirit.