“Money was not the root of all evil, Daisy thought. It could be a huge blessing”

Shortly after finishing the task of reading The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress Bewildered Heart settled down with a handful of romantic movies, until the salty taste of Mills & Boon had been washed from our mouth and replaced with the salty taste of Hollywood. First there was Something's Gotta Give, an older person love story precursor to It's Complicated, and proof that Nancy Meyers takes her titles from overheard comments her teenage daughter makes. Her films, which include What Women Want and The Holiday, are not created for teenagers, of course, rendering the titles as infuriating as they would be if you were talking with someone who used them.

There are few truly fine romantic comedies made nowadays and Something's Gotta Give is not one of them. Neither is It's Complicated, but they do at least feature fifty-something actresses playing women regaining their sexual confidence despite losing their husbands to younger women. Being played by sexually alluring actresses doesn't hurt, mind, and having Keanu Reeves paid to pretend to be attracted to them is helpful as well. These, and the comfortably superior I Could Never Be Your Women, despite the inexplicable presence of Tracey Ullman as Mother Nature, have become a new branch on the withered romcom tree. It is unnecessary to differentiate between these and 'normal' love stories featuring people we want to see fall in love, but it is comforting to know that the likes of Diane Keaton, Michelle Pfeiffer and Meryl Streep are allowed to make terrible films as well, from time to time. We can't allow Katherine Heigl and Jennifer Aniston to dominate the market.

After Something's Gotta Give there was Prince of Persia: Sands of Time, one of those old-fashioned swashbuckler Hollywood epics that was neither old-fashioned nor epic. There was some light swashbuckling. Jake Gyllenhaal, it would seem, is our new dashing leading man, with beard, lank hair and penchant for grinning having murdered someone. He plays the titular prince, borrowed from the streets and adopted by the King to take pride of place alongside his half-brothers as heirs to the throne. Jake is too much of a daring, loveable scallywag for such regal duties, however, but must eventually learn responsibility through a series of bizarre scenes liberally stolen from other movies and involving a time travelling dagger which he uses to inadvertently kill everyone in the world. Walking across a desert bickering with a beautiful woman would be nothing without a beautiful woman to bicker and walk with, and therefore Jake is joined by a queen, the most beautiful woman in Persia nonetheless, for some bickering and occasional parkour. Mostly they argue over which of them has led a more sheltered existence of indulgence and luxury until they realise they both have and the screenwriters have forgotten the all-important element of audience empathy.

Audience empathy seems to be increasingly over-looked in terms of recognisable finances. Prince of Persia: Sands of Time has a devilishly attractive Prince as hero, Gemma Arterton-faced queen as pure-blooded heroine and a bearded villain with resentment over a lack of entitlement. It is hard not to feel a close bond with the dastardly evil-doer who just wants to prove his worth, all because a twist of fate gave his brother the kingdom and him nothing but a powerful brother. While our two leads are extremely pretty and have glorious skin despite the sandy, scorching conditions why are we expected to care for protagonists on the basis that they're beautiful, rich and spoilt? Something's Gotta Give has a billionaire and a millionaire falling in love, every scene played out to a backdrop of resplendent comfort and relaxed ease.

When Mills & Boon pairs a hero with a heroine for frolics and misunderstandings the man is invariably wealthy, his billionaire status demonstrated by the book's title. Appropriately, when one half of a couple is a billionaire the author is well-advised to cast the heroine as something of a pauper. Yet great lengths are taken to make sure the reader understands that their limited reserves are not a slight against their upstanding character. Usually with money comes arrogance and with a lack comes humility. The author strives hard to show her billionaire is a decent, valiant man who worked hard and deserves his fortune, even though money doesn't mean anything to him without a woman to spend it on. Equally, our struggling naïf worked just as hard for her lack of resources, but doesn't care for money or power, what with being a woman and all. If you have comfortable protagonists without financial problems you can have them concentrate fully on the troubles of falling in love, in-keeping with how we humans live, putting off relationships until we have secured our prosperity.

Typically though, the creator of such characters loses sight of what is necessary to make a romantic lead likeable and compelling. It is a given that any role in a Hollywood movie will be portrayed by an actor with looks that rival those of Patrick Dempsey, Kristen Bell or Josh Duhamel etc., because in a multi-million dollar movie even the ugly people are beautiful. Those wanting to watch the amorous adventures of the unattractive can head to family reunions. It may make the characters more difficult to empathise with, but it makes them easier to look at, which is clearly more important. Still, besides the superficial values of physicality, our protagonists tend to have glamorous careers in the fields of advertising, public relations or pharmaceutical sales, which all amount to the same thing, the perpetrating acts of evil on an unsuspecting populace. They are successful doing insufferable things for money and are dedicated to jobs they adore, they are beautiful and young with hair in only the right places and a bevy of loyal, witty friends who each appear to be played by hip stars of popular television shows. Looks and career barely scratch the surface of disposition, however, although it usually suffices for a screenwriter. What about cooing at babies at supermarkets or having a soft spot for stray dogs? You know, defining traits of an identity dedicated to work and self-improvement? Without these, there is little else to say about their personalities, so what humanises them to the extent that hateful, insecure viewers can find their feet-dragging and contrived clumsiness loveable for sometimes as much as one hundred and ten minutes?

Are they so vapid we feel intellectually superior to them and therefore delight in their quirky confusion? Clearly not, because if this were the case a happy ending would see the film climax with them trapped inside a refrigerator outside an abandoned gas station near the South Kaibab Trail, and there has yet to be a romantic comedy which resolves in such a fashion. No, their kiss and cuddle to a sunset backdrop suggests we wish only the best for them, so long as the best we can wish upon someone is a lasting union with Jennifer Garner or Ashton Kutcher. After all, the simple structure of the genre has not troubled audiences for many decades and shows no sign of causing any troubles today, so the formula is tested, true and an occasional quality example proves the enduring potency of screened romance. We come for the set-up and the guarantee of a happy ending, but the most important part of the equation remains. As with every story and every day of life we stay for the people involved.