3) Titanic
Ok, I love Titanic, but man is it a downer. I guess that’s sort of the point. I don’t know if I necessarily see it as romantic, though, but rather more of just a lovely little story about two hot youngsters who were able to bang it out before their ship sank. Kind of like a weird version of The Sessions or The Cake Eaters in which the protagonist with a death sentence of sorts just wants to get laid before they leave this earth. For Titanic’s Jack, this is how this story turns out.
At the same time, maybe he didn’t have to die. I know, easy for us to say from our cushy seats. And I’m not convinced by these theories that he could have fit on the same raft as Rose—even if they could fit in terms of surface area, I haven’t seen anything that says both their weight could have been sustained. But come on man, grab something else! There’s crap floating all around you! It’s a similar issue to the one I have with Bates in Downton Abbey. I have little patience for the sad sack romantic who insists on playing the martyr. That doesn’t seem selfless to me; it seems self-aggrandizing. You know how you can show Rose you really love her? By living. Try harder, bro.
