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In the years since Love Actually was released, it’s been analyzed in hundreds of different ways. Not least of which is the shudder-inducing, super creepy stalker elements of Mark (Andrew Lincoln), who obsesses over Juliet (Keira Knightley) by way of, among other things, filming only close-up shots of her face during her wedding to his best friend, Peter (Chiwetel Ejiofor). But something few people seem to glean with hindsight is how desperate not to be alone everyone comes across in this film. And at the core of what springs from Mark’s obsession with Juliet is the same thing that’s at the center of everyone else’s lovelorn angst, ultimately begat by the crushing loneliness not just of existence in general, but existence in the proverbial big city (London being one of the OGs of that classification).
The desperation is palpable within mere minutes of the film’s commencement, with the perennially randy Colin (Kris Marshall) trying to hit on every woman he comes into contact with (behavior, by the way, that continues to age quite poorly) at Harry’s (Alan Rickman) office as he passes out the sandwiches he’s delivering. In only a few short seconds, we see Colin oozing the desperation of someone who will settle for being with whoever might reciprocate his “feelings” a.k.a. his rapidfire flirtations. Alas, there are no takers, and won’t be until the end of the film, when, again, out of desperation, he goes to America in search of pussy before he becomes a totally scary incel (like Mark sort of already is). As a matter of fact, this is why his seemingly only friend, Tony (Abdul Salis), tells him, “Colin, you’re a lonely, ugly asshole. And you must accept it.” “Fortunately” for those in need of a progressing movie plot, Colin does not accept it at all, nor does any other character in the story.
This doesn’t mean, however, that others in the film are quite so desperate (though that doesn’t mean they don’t still fall under the category). Indeed, some are too grief-stricken to bother with fretting over the search for sex and/or romance. Namely, Daniel (Liam Neeson), whose own desperation emanates through the phone when he calls Karen (Emma Thompson)—a name that was still permitted use back in 2003—for the umpteenth time in search of comfort. So it is that he opens the conversation with, “Karen, it’s me again. I’m sorry. I literally don’t have anyone else to talk to.” The patheticness of that statement doesn’t move Karen enough to stay on the phone. Instead, she promises to call him back later when she’s not so busy talking to her daughter about how she got cast as the lobster in the nativity play.
Writer-director Richard Curtis then shows us another example of desperate love in the form of Sarah (Laura Linney), who works for Harry at his Fair Trade office. It’s Harry that feels obliged to take her aside and tell her to confess her love for Karl (Rodrigo Santoro), their “enigmatic chief designer.” Because it’s clear to everyone in the office that she’s loved him for the two and a half years (or “two years, seven months, three days and, I suppose, what? Two hours?”) she’s been working there. Their thinly-veiled romantic connection has that whiff of The Office (the real British one that begat the American one) in terms of the “sparks” that continuously fly between Tim and Dawn. Incidentally, Martin Freeman, who played Tim, appears as John in one of the less “meaty” plotlines about two body doubles a.k.a. nude stand-ins who fall in love while simulating sex on the set of a movie (long before the job of “intimacy coordinator” existed. Considering The Office ended in 2003, it’s telling that the office romance plotline of Love Actually would be so prominent, with everyone wanting things to pan out between Sarah and Karl the same way they wanted it to for Tim and Dawn (which it finally did after, what else, the Christmas special). Alas, the key difference between Dawn and Sarah is that the latter has a codependent, mentally ill brother that takes up all her time. Something that Karl very much realizes when he’s trying to, at last, consummate their simmering-turned-boiling attraction.
Some characters are, obviously, better at freely displaying their emotions (read: not repressing them like Sarah). Case in point, when Daniel starts openly sobbing, Karen says what everyone in the audience has been thinking about most of the characters: “Get a grip. People hate sissies.” She adds, “No one’s ever gonna shag you if you cry all the time.” Yet radiating sadness seems to be the key to “attracting a mate” in Love Actually, with one desperate person sensing the forlornness of another at every turn (in other words, “like attracts like”). This, of course, applies to the “love story” of Jamie (Colin Firth) and Aurélia (Lúcia Moniz), as the former arrives at his French cottage to retreat from the city that reminds him only of how his wife cheated on him with his brother. After opening up the windows in the house to “air it out,” Jamie sits at his typewriter (where he’ll inevitably try to write a cringe-y white man’s novel) and laments, “Alone again.” As though being alone is a fate worse than death, especially during the holiday season. Conveniently, though, Jamie is “bequeathed” with Aurélia as his house cleaner, helping Curtis’ evident aim to speak to the master-slave dynamic in male-female relationships.
This is also the case with the new prime minister, David (Hugh Grant) and his “biscuit and tea fetcher,” if you will, Natalie (Martine McCutcheon). Their love, too, is a case of “affection via proximity.” With every single one of the characters (except for, incidentally, Colin) being too lazy to go much outside of their comfort zone to “find someone” to “love.” Or at least someone to nuzzle up against in time for Christmas. This appears to be slutty Mia’s (Heike Makatsch) goal as well, apparently unable to seek (unmarried) dick outside the office either. Her relentless and shameless pursuit of Harry is, indeed, the exemplar of the desperation that loneliness can invoke. For while some would like to believe she merely wants to prove to herself that her “hotness” can get her any man she wants (even a man as boo’d up as Harry), seeing her strip down alone in her sad little room—having hoped the red lingerie she wore would be seen by someone other than herself—is the greatest indication of her loneliness. And if ever there was a movie that spoke to the Henry David Thoreau aphorism, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” it’s surely this one.
Faded and aging rock star Billy Mack (Bill Nighy), the true thread that ties every narrative together by constantly appearing on the radio or TV to promote his atrocious Christmas single, “Christmas Is All Around,” is arguably the most openly desperate of all. With nothing to lose, he doesn’t care how he sounds when he tells a radio interviewer, “When I was young and successful, I was greedy and foolish. And now I’m left with no one, wrinkled and alone.” That descriptor “alone” being, once more, the worst thing a person can be according to Love Actually. Even if they still feel alone with the person they make a mad dash for like it’s a game of musical chairs. This negative connotation surrounding the “horror” of being without a “better half” is also very much a sign of the times. With 00s ideologies increasingly coming across as being almost as retro as 50s ones.
To that end, it used to be that Love Actually was viewed as the ultimate “feel-good” rom-com set during Christmas. But with further reflection, it’s apparent that the majority of the characters in the movie are grasping for someone, anyone to make them feel even slightly less alone and/or less aware of their mortality. That, in the end, is the true “Christmas message” it gives. For the desire not to feel alone in life is never more heightened than at this time of year, with few seeming to pay attention to the old adage, “We’re all alone in our own head” no matter what we do. Which is precisely why the people in Love Actually are going insane. They can’t live up to the Jean-Paul Sartre warning, “If you are lonely when you’re alone, you are in bad company.”
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Genna Rivieccio
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