The Idea Of You: Anne Hathaway Bridges The (Age) Gap Between Rom-Coms & Romantic Dramas

IN MANY WAYS, The Idea of You is the cinematic manifestation of Anne Hathaway’s career. The premise revolves around a 40-year-old woman’s ‘affair’ with a dashing 24-year-old celebrity. Everything about it screams rom-com: the cast, the Notting Hill upgrade, the cross-cultural love story, the light tone. The Idea of You ties into our idea of Hathaway. Everything about the actress, too, has often screamed rom-com: The quick wit, the 10000-watt smile, the Princess Diaries and Devil Wears Prada-fueled stardom, the all-American vibe. But the film uses the crowd-pleasing template – and her popular persona – only as an in. Just when we expect all those feel-good tropes to flood a potentially complex story, reality takes over. In other words, it morphs into that rare new genre: Life masquerading as a romantic comedy. It mirrors Hathaway’s talent as an actress of great gravity posing as one with great levity. She’s always been a romcom star, but The Idea of You employs this as a smokescreen for what is essentially a dramatic and deeper role.

This meta riff is wired into a movie that deconstructs a 1990s romcom into a sum of its post-MeToo consequences. All those dreamy things happen, sure, but the price must be paid. The plausibility must be confronted. The problems must be reckoned with. Director Michael Showalter reels us in only to suspend us in that vacuum between storytelling and being. The meet-cute happens at Coachella during a concert for teenagers, but the creepiness is oddly disarming: The age gap evens out the agency gap. Even though he’s the one with wealth and power, she’s the one who knows – or should know – better.

Los Angeles-based art curator Soléne Marchand gives into the persuasive charms of young Hayes Campbell, the British lead singer of a world-famous boy band. They allow themselves to fall for each other, kiss, travel, live a little, battle societal hypocrisies and ageism, ignore trolls and tabloids, win over their doubters and family members – but that’s not enough. Soléne is no William Thacker and Hayes is no Anna Scott. She has a 16-year-old daughter from a previous marriage and trust issues, and she suspects that she might be reclaiming her lost twenties through this ‘tryst’ with Hayes. He looks for his lost childhood in her normie-ness, but they both suspect that his older-woman habit is a symptom of distant parenting and a broken family. It’s like watching froth having to reckon with the bitter beer beneath.

The film is careful in its romanticisation of gender dynamics. There are two endings. One is conventional: Everything is sorted, the biases are defied, all the differences have been overcome against all odds. This is where most romcoms end; this is the happily ever after. The second, however, is more pragmatic: It’s not so simple. The story takes its time to imply that feeling right isn’t the same as being correct. Soléne feels she deserves some joy after years of living for others. But she also knows that, ultimately, there is a time and place for her ‘rebellion’: It cannot come at the cost of others – or worse, herself. She doubts herself because she isn’t sure if her desire is a reaction to her past or a leap into her future.

The treatment of the film visibly suggests that her relationship with Hayes is not predatory but pure. The camera, for instance, tilts and pans to where they choose to hold and touch each other during the sex scenes; it’s a physical reflection of the scrutiny and gaze that condemns couples like them. It’s also a reflection of them overcoming that gaze in instalments, as if to say: “Yeah, what’re you looking at now?” The battle is in every other gesture, and they never totally win. She constantly checks herself while opening up to him, because it’s almost like she can see that he’s too inexperienced to understand – and therefore, betray – her. He sings about emotions he wants to feel, and now that he’s feeling them, she has a sinking sense that she’s grooming and nurturing him in the guise of love.

Hathaway and Nicholas Galitzine make an unlikely couple – with weird chemistry – but perhaps that works. There’s nothing about the two characters that suggest they would be fascinated by each other. They are intellectually different but emotionally similar. Soléne looks like she’d be dismissive of young pop-stars like him (even the daughter has outgrown her fandom), but the slightest whiff of attention has her dismantling all those barriers. Ironically, that’s probably the part where the film falters. As good as Hathaway is in quasi-serious roles, it’s hard to process her as an ‘ordinary’ single mother who gets carried away. Her natural charisma tends to work against the concept of Soléne.

The actress looks like an ageless movie star at her worst, so the uncomfortable novelty of the couple is defeated by the fact that Hathaway appears more glamorous than he does. It constantly feels like she’s trying to act regular and wounded in what comes across as a very streaming-age performance. Her self-loathing feels superficial. It’s adequate in isolation – and the reel-real allegory holds fort – but it’s also tough to remember that he’s the famous one. This is only an optical detail, but it’s an important one in context of a movie that thrives on the subversion of power imbalance and ageism. Which is to say: The film’s internalisation of Hathaway’s legacy is the strength, and she is also its weakness.

Yet, I found myself taken by the cursory illusions of The Idea of You. It’s marketed as a romcom, so our lens ensures that it feels more intuitive and mature by default; it surprises us by punching up and humanising the formula. But expect an actual relationship drama, and you might be disappointed. By being pretty, it pretends to be the underdog. By refusing to be funny or flimsy, the film wins hearts – even if it isn’t as potent as the similarly-themed May December. (The scale: At least it isn’t No Hard Feelings). It’s a matter of perspective. After all, one fan’s Anne Hathaway is another’s Natalie Portman. One fan’s Jennifer Lawrence is another’s Julianne Moore. I suppose that’s the idea of The Idea of You: It bridges the bottomless void between sweet and salty. Between a romantic comedy and a happy tragedy. Sometimes, we get neither. Most times, we get a bit of both. 

Stream The Idea Of You here.