Three Minutes of Emotional Devastation
The “Expectations vs. Reality” scene in 500 Days of Summer is brilliant because of its restraint.
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Maybe it’s because I, too, was a young man who thought he was pretty amazing and couldn’t understand why everyone he met didn’t fall passionately in love with him1, but I’ve always felt attacked by 500 Days of Summer. The nonlinear story of Tom Hansen (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) who falls for Summer (Zooey Deschanel) and then essentially tries to will her to want him as much as he wants her is already a kind of brutal anti-romance, picking apart not only the awkward beginning and painful failure of the relationship but also highlighting Tom’s self-centeredness and innate awfulness2. It’s a movie I think a lot of guys saw themselves in and then experienced a slow, chilling realization that this was not a good thing3.
It’s a terrific movie, expertly dissecting the confusing and often violently frustrating experience of becoming emotionally invested in a person who doesn’t share the same level of feeling4. Summer likes Tom, and she gives the relationship a shot, but in the end he’s just not The One for her. Tom desperately wants Summer to think of him as The One, and he tries very, very hard to force this into reality, eventually coming off as a desperate, pathetic ass.
Nothing brings this into focus more forcefully than the infamous “Expectations vs. Reality” scene5. Tom, encouraged by an affectionate encounter with Summer after their relationship had cooled, shows up at a party she’s hosting6. What follows is two minutes and forty-two seconds of suffering as the film shows us, via split-screen, the difference between Tom’s expectations (that Summer is delighted to see him, lavishes him with attention, and then makes out with him) and reality (that Summer is happy he came, doesn’t pay him much attention, and turns out to be engaged).
The split-screen technique is powerful—who hasn’t shown up at a party or other event hoping to connect with someone7, only to have reality stomp all over you8? But what really makes this sequence sing, what really makes it a near-perfect short horror film, is how calibrated the reality side is.
I Don’t Think About You At All
In a movie with less effective writing, this scene would have been played out more obviously. The “reality” side would have played up the awkwardness of the situation, the brutality of the experience, and possibly leading to a huge argument, a flashy dramatic moment.
Instead, we get something so close to realism it’s almost perfect. Summer is polite and treats Tom with kindness. The other guests take about as much interest in him as polite society requires. But instead of having Summer all to himself, instead of being marked as special, he finds himself standing awkwardly around as she interacts with her other guests, presumably because she invited everyone and wants to see them9. The fact that it’s not dramatic and splashy roots it in familiar awkward social occasions we’ve all experienced, parties when we didn’t know anyone, filled with infatuations that weren’t requited. The dynamic is simple: You’re increasingly miserable because the emotional connection you thought you were going to experience is absent, but you’re trapped in the construct of polite society10, unable to do anything but stand there and worry about how you’re holding your hands, the expression on your face, whether or not you look like the sad, lonely loser you feel like11.
The kicker is the brilliant final moments of the scene: As it dawns on Tom that Summer regards him simply as one of the guests at her party, he notices her showing off an engagement ring, and the “reality” side of the split-screen slowly expands, taking over the screen12. No big moment. No yelling, no drama. Just someone realizing what an ass they’ve been in real time.
Sweet Restraint
Restraint can be challenging when writing a story, because it sometimes feels like it’s not writing. Depicting something in a realistic fashion sometimes feels like you’re simply describing an experience and not value-adding as a creator, or something13. The urge to dress everything up, to make every character “quirky,” every scene emotionally loud, every speech a brilliant soliloquy often has the opposite effect: The scene in question feels over-written, overwrought, and artificial.
The “Reality vs. Expectations” scene conveys all the emotional devastation without any of that, simply by tearing down Tom’s fantasy world brick by brick. The calibration makes it believable. A lot of writers think they have to turn up the volume in scenes in order to get the response from the reader or audience that they’re looking for, but that’s expectations, and the reality is that if you craft solid characters and plausible emotional scenarios, the scene will be powerful without histrionics. In fact, it can be more powerful because it will connect with people instead of simply being a gaudy thing they might admire from a distance.
Of course, the effectiveness of this scene depends very much on you having experienced emotional humiliation at some point in your awkward, sweaty life. If you’re the Summer in the equation and not the Tom, the scene might hit different, reminding you of that stalkery person you dated four times who then kept showing up at Karaoke Night to demand to know why you weren’t answering their calls14.
NEXT WEEK: Why no one cares about Marvel movies any more.
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I still think this, and if you try to disabuse me of it I will literally stick my fingers in my ears and start chanting I AM super cute, I AM super cute.
If I’m being honest, this is why I feel attacked, since I am self-centered and, frankly, awful.
This happens to us guys all the time. You chilling along, identifying with the guy from Fight Club or Michael Corleone, and then one day you realize that you’ve identified with some of the worst people in the universe and you yourself may be a terrible person. It’s part of being a guy.
This also perfectly describes my relationship with my cats. The less we all think about that, the better.
I experience EXPECTATIONS VS. REALITY splitscreens in my head every time I pour a whiskey. Expectation: Me in a smoking jacket, swirling whiskey in my glass while I regale a small crowd of devoted fans with my wit. Reality: I wake up pantsless in the bathroom at Rudy’s Bar and Grill in Hell’s Kitchen.
As any woman will tell you, the biggest strategic mistake you can make is being nice to a guy you’d finally managed to dump. We translate politeness into desire with frightening ease.
Or, worse, to impress someone.
When I was pretty young I once hosted a martini party with the goal of graduating to adult cocktails. I woke up with a stomach bug but refused to cancel the party, which I spent lying on my bed, moaning while all my friends made terrible martinis and didn’t miss me at all. As always, there is a lesson in that experience but I refuse to learn it.
Unless it’s one of those parties where you invite everyone because you intend to poison them. These sorts of parties are more exciting, of course, but also quite rare.
SAY IT WITH ME: Is “Trapped in a Construct of Polite Society” the title of my memoir? Yes, and it’s the best one yet.
I’m okay with being a sad, lonely loser, as long as I don’t look like a sad, lonely loser. This is the most American thing about me. Aside from the enormous American Flag tattoo on my back.
It’s a terrific visual metaphor for an epiphany, too.
You know you’ve spent too much time in Corporate America when you casually drop a phrase like “value-add” in everyday footnote conversation.
Eventually, of course, the Toms and the Summers must go to war, and one must be forever destroyed. I just hope I’m dead before that happens.
I always thought that movie was a rom-com. Now that I know it's horror I have to try and watch it. Except those two minutes and forty-two seconds. They're too brutal.
Holy mac, that scene was brutal. Ow ow ow.