I always find that a romantic relationship is very hard to define by any means. The quality of being profound in this case is subjective, to say the least. Among other art forms, films do give us a few windows to explore romantic ideas; and often our inner picture of what relationships should have been are reshaped by them. This isn't necessarily an evil thing if the artist is honest and refers to their excellence in the field while producing an artwork. However, we are mostly exposed to the fabricated, glorified, and misleading versions of romance.

I should come clean though, as I feel a bit ashamed and unfortunate when I think about my own romantic life. Which is pretty much non-existent. I have never been in love with anyone, even though I have dated a few people for quite some years. I have never grown any yearning for anyone, which caused me to suspect whether I have such feelings at all. But when I weep at romantic ideas portrayed in films, I also have some assurance that perhaps I'm not entirely hopeless. That also raises the question—am I conditioned by the media? Which is unlikely because the films that conditioned me are not mass media products. Still, I'm not entirely ruling it out.

Another reason I surmised is that, we do not see the romance between two people if they are from real life. We only get to see the outermost visage of it, as no inner working is exposed to outsiders. In art, everything is exposed. The audience can then impose themselves in it and experience, while second hand, deeply.

Take Casablanca (1942) for an instance, a tragi-comedy movie with two souls coming together only for a short while, and losing each other forever. Even though they knew their optimal happiness lie with them together. I could feel my yearning, the helplessness. Same thing happened with the Cold War (2018), which soaked me with a veil of pure sadness for people that do not exist.

In hindsight, I never had a most favorite romantic film, as I felt the genre is a bit segmented and highly prone to mutation to give a whole picture. I loved the strangeness of A bout de souffle (1960), I wanted the title character from Cleo from 5 to 7 all to myself, while still wanting to see her flying like a free bird.

I cant even begin to imagine how much I hated Clementine for pushing Joel away in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). Removing her memories of him was too cruel a punishment for my taste. How could you not leave the path of redemption?

I've cheered for the titular character of Amelie (2001), gracefully made alive by Audrey Tautou. She was like a dewdrop on a grass blade, shining in bright sunlight. I didn't want to have her for myself, I couldn't even feel that way. Yet I loved her, utterly, madly. Perhaps, this is what they mean by platonic love.

Even though made on a similar story, Ivan and Marchka moved much more in Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965) than in any Shakespearean play or film. However, this film puts forward another question, how much artistic expression can influence the audience into accepting its romantic ideas which would be otherwise mundane in a big production house.

But I do love passable, critically mixed films like About Time (2013), The Vow (2012), Crazy Stupid Love (2011), He's just not that into you (2009), Notebook (2004), and so on. My most favorite guilty pleasure romantic film is surely Love Actually (2003), which kinda warms my heart in desolate situations.

Having said all of that, I do realize I did not give any clear picture of my preference at all. Perhaps I'm a sucker for all kinds of romance. My yearning is derived from absence after all.