Volume 95, Issue 72

Friday, February 8, 2002

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Spicy pad Thai heats up the downtown core

InterVarsity Choral Festival prepares to hit the high note

Disc of the Week

This is Bad Taste, no literally - it sucks

Hoobastank crawls into sickly sweet pop

Boys cry, too, y'know

Boys cry, too, y'know

Slacktose Intolerant
Chris Lackner
C&C Editor

Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Confusion and complications ensue. The dark hands of fate seem aligned against them – but cupid pulls back his bowstring and love rules the day.

Roll the credits.


People pay to see the clichιs of Hollywood romantic comedies. People want to see a happy ending and why the hell not? I want to see a happy ending, too.

The whole genre of romantic films has been unfairly designated as a bunch of "chick flicks." Last time I checked, I was a man (I may have to check again by the time I finish this column).

I may not be a gargantuan man of Herculean proportions – I'm willing to admit I'd probably have my hands full in a fight with a Girl Guide, let alone a Mustang football player.

But, I like beer. I like watching football. Sometimes I forget to chew my food. Occasionally I grunt and speak in single syllables. I like watching stuff explode.

I also like a good "chick flick."

In the spirit of Valentine's Day – which most of us annually curse or embrace, depending on our relationship status – I'm here to defend this age-old cinematic art of romance.

Even if I despise a romantic film, I simply can't stop watching.

I once had a make or break exam at 9 a.m., but somehow became enthralled by the film You've Got Mail the night before. Meg Ryan is perhaps the most insufferable actress in the history of mankind, but something inside me still wanted to witness love reigning supreme.

On a side note, if I ever meet Meg Ryan, the conversation will likely go as follows:

Meg: Hello, I'm so cute. I'm suffocatingly adorable. I'm America's favourite sweetheart. I've kissed Tom Hank 789 times.

Me: Shush now, you mind-numbing twit! (this comment would be followed by me swiftly sucker-punching her and then shaving her head).

Seriously, there are some solid romantic films out there.

The John Cusack-driven High Fidelity is perhaps the perfect film for the club-wielding man who decides to venture into the world of romantic comedy. Before Sunrise – a film where two strangers spend one night in Vienna, Austria – is another gem.

But, I realize there is a lot of garbage out there as well.

I'm not really motivated to rent Robert Redford's The Horse Whisperer any time soon (although I hear the sex scenes between Redford and the horses are fantastic) and Patrick Swayze makes me want to vomit in Dirty Dancing.

However, I'd like to think the hopeful romantic resides somewhere within all of us.

Give cupid and St. Valentine's spirit a chance, guys – don't buy into the "chick flick" label. While you're at it – check out that sex scene with the horses – it just might be worth it.

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