The writing in LOVE is obviously first-rate (genuine, unforced, not too cute) and the acting seems fine…okay, pretty good. Everything seems right and harmonious except for one small element. In real life Paul Rust would be too dorky-looking to attract someone as hot as Gillian Jacobs. She looks like Kathryn Harrold, for God’s sake, and Harrold was a little too hot even for Albert Brooks in Modern Romance. No offense, Albert, if you’re reading this but you know what I mean. In the late ’70s WASPY, blue-eyed goddesses with killer cheekbones didn’t didn’t commit to anything long-term with clever-funny guys with Jewfros unless, you know, the guys were loaded. It happened, I suppose, but not that often. Once or twice in my observational experience.
Girls like Jacobs know what they have and the kind of guy they can land with a little luck and connivance. If Rust was lucky enough to pair up with Jacobs in real life it would be one of those odd relationships in which both parties realize that she’s doing him a huge favor. These always end sooner or later because the guy starts to feel diminished because he doesn’t feel he has any sense of equality; he feels like a waiter who’s been given an astonishing tip. These things also end because it’s always just a matter of time before she decides “okay, he’s cool and a good soul and not a bad lover, but that beak! Plus he’s neurotic and bothersome in about 17 or 18 different ways, and I know I could do better if I get out there and start sniffing around.”
I know whereof I speak. I lucked out with a beautiful neurotic blonde two and three-quarter years ago, and if truth be told…well, she wasn’t exactly doing me a favor but I did feel as if God had cut me a break. I knew from the get-go it was a limited thing and so did she, and I didn’t care because the benefits were kind of breathtaking.