“Reminders of Him” makes the case for melodrama

Before we get down to business, I have a confession to make: I wrote two whole paragraphs of the story you’re reading right now, calling the film “Reminders of Him” by the wrong name. That also means that, despite the title card appearing at the top of the film, I watched all 115 minutes of “Reminders of Him” believing I was watching a movie called “Reminders of Me.” Earlier this week, I believe I even referred to Vanessa Caswill’s film — adapted from Colleen Hoover’s 2022 novel of the same name (or, I guess, some name) — as “Reminders of Us.” It seems as though I’m entirely unsure of who is sparking the titular reminders of this saccharine, ridiculous, and oh-so-delightful melodrama. Though that’s sort of the point.

Movies like this don’t require a memorable title. That you, me, or anyone out there might not be able to correctly name the title of this film — that the title could, ostensibly, be any vague combination of three similar words — is not just part of its charm, but its marketability, as well. The moms, young women and gay men across this great world know exactly what they’re going to be watching when they see a film like “Reminders of Him.” It will be sensationalized. It will be dramatic. It will have a happy ending. The Colleen Hoover-verse is designed to entice the reader or viewer looking for something that feels good and is easily digestible, without necessarily being unique. And, sure, these movies fill time, but they aren’t in the same sphere of background-watching as your average Netflix joint; “The Kissing Booth” has nothing on “Reminders of Him,” in no small part because “Reminders of Him” is actually not half bad.

But let’s not get too hyperbolic. Just like 2024’s troubled “It Ends with Us” — the first big-screen adaptation of one of Hoover’s novels— and last fall’s “Regretting You,” “Reminders of Him” isn’t good by any stretch of the imagination. The film is, however, highly watchable, and that aspect is key to its importance within the larger cinematic landscape. Unlike Douglas Sirk’s beautifully photographed Technicolor melodramas of the 1950s, or the subgenre’s more narratively contemplative, weepy entries from the late ’70s, the new guard of romantic tearjerkers doesn’t have a pronounced stylistic draw. Yet, there’s a distinctly mesmeric quality to these modern melodramas regardless. Their specialness lies in their near-wanton absurdity. They are so fake that they’re real. And just when you think you can’t possibly have an emotional connection to what you’re watching, a sudden wallop to the gut punches the tears right out of you. The effect has left audiences coming back, hungry for more, and made fans out of those who have never even picked up one of Hoover’s books. For an industry that’s always in flux, the revival of the melodrama might just be the savior that the once moribund mid-budget film has been seeking.

That may seem like a heavy crown to place on the head of a film featuring multiple needle drops of Coldplay’s “Yellow,” but it’s the schmaltzy, somewhat juvenile aspects of “Reminders of Him” that make the film lovable. This is the type of movie that serves as an amuse-bouche to proper, headier dramas for the PG-13 crowd, and its bespoke accessibility is thoroughly appealing. Corniness is served up on a silver platter right from the jump, when Kenna Rowan (Maika Monroe) — fresh out of prison after pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter when a drunken car accident killed her boyfriend, Scotty, a few years prior — asks her cab driver to pull over. There, on the side of the highway, is a memorial for Scotty near the place where he died. Shockingly, Kenna kicks over the makeshift wooden cross, lifts it from the dirt, and takes it with her. “You always hated memorials,” she narrates. Never mind that this makes no sense, that no human has ever hated something as sweet and totally innocuous as a memorial. If “Reminders of Him” tells the viewer it’s so, then that’s how it is.

Hoover co-wrote the screenplay alongside Lauren Levine, which is why the film bears the same strangely hypnotic, if confusing, pull as her novels. Translated to the screen, her already underwritten — and always strangely named — characters look even less like real humans with real motivations. They don’t operate on the same spectrum of human nature as you and I do. They don’t know how to use context clues, read a room, or talk like they’ve used words ever in their lives, nor do they need to. Realism comes second to whatever these characters are going through, and they’re all going through something. That’s the big trick: Burden a fictional person with enough trauma, and eventually, some aspect will click with the viewer.

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In Kenna’s case, she’s wracked with guilt over Scotty, strapped for cash yet unable to find work with a felony on her record, and desperate to meet her daughter, Diem, who was born while Kenna was incarcerated and sent to live with Scotty’s parents, Grace (Lauren Graham) and Patrick (Bradley Whitford). The only way to make things right is to return to the literal scene of the crime, where Kenna hopes to confront the ghosts of her past to build a future alongside her daughter. That is, of course, not so easily done, especially when Kenna falls in love with Ledger (Tyriq Withers), Scotty’s lifelong best friend, whom Kenna conveniently never got a chance to meet. After Scotty’s death, Ledger became a staple in Diem’s life, and the budding romance with Kenna tangles everyone into a gnarled knot of low-stakes deception and drama.

With a love triangle between two living parties and a dead guy, custody disagreements and a few other small-time secrets, Hoover has essentially perfected the recipe for the modern melodrama. Her torrid matters of the heart are time-tested and efficient. These stories work because, as excessive as they are, they’re tinged with believability. Who doesn’t yearn to clean up their mistakes and find some semblance of happiness, even when contentment seems so far out of reach? Regrets are staples of the melodrama, and Hoover’s characters are in constant conversation with their past selves.

To give credit where it’s due, few films wear their bathos with such pride. Melodrama doesn’t exactly have the most sterling reputation for discerning cinema viewers. Too often, it’s frustratingly disguised as prestige drama, buried under big-name actors, trying to pretend like the material they’re working with isn’t just a gussied-up supermarket paperback, or a novel recommended by the staff of an airport bookstore. Watching “Reminders of Him” and shedding a few tears during the inevitable scene where Kenna finally meets her daughter, I was reminded of just how cloying the experience of watching “Hamnet” was. Here was a film trying so hard to convince the audience of its highbrowness that it lost the genuinely arresting effect these smaller-tier Hoover adaptations have by simply being honest with the audience. These films are not trying to have a wide effect on moviegoers, much less strive for something timeless; they simply want to tell a story and do it in an entertaining way. How incredibly refreshing.

(Michelle Faye / Universal Pictures) Maika Monroe and Rudy Pankow in “Reminders of Him”

Granted, much of the film’s potency is the result of its leads, who are engaging both entirely on their own and especially when they share the screen. Monroe and Withers are two gifted actors who remain criminally reduced to projects undeserving of their charm and talents, but it’s lovely to see them give their all, especially when the script absolutely doesn’t demand it. Neither lead is here to phone it in, and they’re smart not to: These films have a massive reach, from coast to coast and across all of the flyover states in between, and as such, result in equally large profile boosts. And even if the modern melodrama rarely gets sweepingly positive reviews, they still make a boatload of cash. Hoover’s books are so popular that studios are clamoring for the rights to adapt them, aware of the fact that the films will make money regardless of whether or not they’re actually good. On a $25 million budget, “It Ends with Us” raked in a jaw-dropping $351 million worldwide. And in just one theatrical weekend, “Reminders of Him” — made on the same budget — has made $30 million.

Those are staggering numbers for movies that are, at best, just fine. But this isn’t a case study in the public’s diminished capacity for thinking in the digital age, or an example of the average moviegoer not wanting more for themselves or the films they watch. Like the Sirkian melodramas of yesteryear, or even a film like “The Way We Were,” we go to see movies like “Reminders of Him” because they’re highly entertaining — and, more often than not, decently made. They also provide a valuable litmus test for contemporary romance. What do relationships look like now, and what’s on the minds of filmmakers working today? It’s fascinating to see how uniquely modern elements of our time shape the critical narrative points of movies like “Reminders of Him.” That this curiosity translates to cold, hard cash is fantastic news in the streaming era, when Netflix, Hulu and the like have all but annihilated the theatrical mid-budget film. And even if “Reminders of Him” isn’t that much better at the end of the day, the quality gap between this film and your everyday Netflix offering is astonishing.

But even though “Reminders of Him” isn’t a great film, it’s a door-opener, a movie that will make both studio heads and screenwriters sit up and listen. There is still plenty of value in the theatrical melodrama. People want to see stories that flagrantly, confidently tug at their heartstrings — ambitious romances that make the everyday into something cinematic, without trying to dress up the ordinary aspects of life in prestige, Oscar-bait clothing. While the melodrama has only just been taken off life support, “Reminders of Him” is a start. It’s the promise of something more. Something better. Something deserving of a memorable title.