Render Me In Three Dimensions Like One of Your French Girls

The first video above is the original 1997 trailer to the film Titanic. The second is for the 2012 3D re-release.

What differences do we notice?

For starters, the second is a much simpler, pared down version. It's nearly half as long. It assumes you know the story, or are at least vaguely familiar with it. It assumes you know the characters and why they're on the boat. It assumes you know who are the leads and the fact they wind up together. They don't have to waste time establishing context, they can dive right into the good stuff.

And by "Good Stuff" I mean the memorable parts. The images seared into our collective consciousnesses that scream "James Cameron's Titanic." We have the captain, the engine room crew, the steerage dance scene, the sex scene in the old-timey car, the elderly couple preparing themselves for death in their bed, among others.

And because so many scenes were added, some of the less-memorable scenes are swept under the rug. Gone are any indicators this story is told via flashback, save for a brief three second shot of a submarine near the beginning. Gone is Billy Zane and any indicators of class struggle as a main theme, possibly a hot button issue in this current era of occupiers and 99 percenters.

What has been added? That god damn Celine Dion song. In the original, it was a brief instrumental piece among the other orchestral numbers. In the new one, it's belted out over the entire second half. And shame on the marketing team; America has just about nearly forgotten Celine Dion altogether. She's like a wart. Even if we get rid of her, she's still creeping around under the surface.

But on a less bitter note, the new trailer has a heavier emphasis on the disaster-movie qualities. It was definitely the editor's intention to feature short, punchy, exciting clips, most likely to emphasize the possibilities and grandeur of 3D. As opposed to, you know, the conversion being a completely pointless endeavor.

Love For Sale

I think I finally understand the appeal of romantic comedies. But first an important question: Have you ever read fan fiction?

Basically, fan fiction is an unofficial, non-canon sequel or companion piece to a piece of fiction not at all affiliated with the creators. As the name implies, it is exclusively produced by a fan.

Why does fan-fiction exist? For a number of reasons. As a writing exercise. As a testament of loyalty and/or fandom. To give eternal life to a beloved franchise. Or (most likely) maybe it's to fulfill a long-sustained fantasy.

I'm going to segue abruptly to a famous term anyone remotely familiar with TVtropes.org should know: Shipping. Shipping is the pairing of two characters whom the viewer/reader believes should have a romantic interest. Most commonly, two lead characters with unresolved sexual tension. Within the canonical confines of a TV show, shipping almost invariably spells doom (Moonlighting, The X-Files, and CSI spring instantly to mind.) But in the no-holds-barred world of fan-fiction, anybody gets paired with anybody else. It's up to the lewd, perverted mind of the writer.

Now, what does all this have to do with romantic comedies? Simple; Romantic comedies are the ultimate form of fan fiction.

Hollywood producers tap into the primal urges of the target audience. Think about the astronomical number of mouth-breathers who go apeshit every time there's a celebrity hook-up, break-up or sex scandal. What if we could harness that power and profit from it? What if we could ship together two of the hottest celebrities in LA-LA-Land, project their romantic private lives onto 50-foot screens across the country, then sell the DVDs to In Touch reading freaks for $22 a pop?

Through the magical power of the RomCom, we can ship together an infinite permutation of actors and actresses, drag them through the artificial trenches of relationship hell, and both thespians come out smelling like roses on the other side. Meanwhile, audiences get to pretend Guy HotChest and Dame SweetLegs are actually canoodling, and studio execs get to refill their money bins in time for their Thursday morning breastsroke.