The other day I went to see Wanderlust, a movie staring Jennifer Aniston and Paul Rudd. I went in not knowing a thing about the plot, but it turns out that Aniston and Rudd play a happily married couple who encounter a cult-like group of free spirits and then must decide whether they belong together, in the real world, or in the cult lifestyle. But the most unbelievable thing in the movie was the cult itself. “Elysium Bed and Breakfast,” as the commune was called, was so heinously cultish that I didn’t even pay attention to it. It was such a ludicrous place with such ludicrous people and interactions that I suspended my belief as soon as Jennifer Aniston’s new husband (whatever his title is) showed up on screen with dreadlocks. Yea, no thanks. Over it.
But what really stuck with me from this uncomfortable film, for lack of a better word to describe it, was the married relationship of Linda and George (Aniston and Rudd). I realized somewhere in the middle of the movie that the “Elysium cult” was just a reflection, an awkward hallucinogenic version of the cult that is in fact, committed relationships in general.
The movie opens with Linda and George signing a lease to their “perfect” apartment in West Village, the ideal spot to live in Manhattan, despite the fact that Linda has never had a real job and George is heading for a quick cutthroat lay off. They move into the tiny walk up with a pull-out bed and say they’re living the dream until they can’t afford it anymore. And all I kept wondering was, why am I so happy that they got the apartment in West Village? Why am I so happy that they’re living in a 5×5 box? Why am I so happy that they are in love? I mean, I’m not the relationship Grinch. Obviously I want to find the one and get married and pop out a special baby so that I can spoil the crap out of her (I know I’m going to have a girl, no higher power would bless me with a manageable boy). But I just got to thinking that the bigger cult in the movie was the “majority”, all the people that find somebody, settle down, get married, get careers and build a suburban life together. Suddenly the free love and hippy lifestyle of Elysium didn’t seem as absurd as the rest of the world getting married, having babies and living in mansions. Why do we feel compelled to do all those things, make all those little landmarks in life? What’s the point really?
I’m not saying we should practice free love and be nudists, but the movie started to make me weary of the cult that we’ve been taught to follow, to praise, to believe in, in which committed relationships are a necessary and important life goal. I don’t want to be alone, but I wonder if it is all it’s cracked up to be. How many people actually find someone they can tolerate spending the rest of their life and fertile eggs on? I mean you really only get one chance, like, what if you screw up?
Unless you live in the 3D virtual reality world of Hollywood where children, responsibility, and DUIs can disappear as quickly as marriages, love, and life itself, you can really only take one good gamble at a committed relationship, and if it doesn’t work out, your life pretty much sucks. People definitely happily remarry or reconfigure their initial mistakes but man, you end up with a lot of baggage.
SPOILER ALERT. I wasn’t really happy at the end of the movie when Rudd came and picked up Aniston from the commune and was like, “I totally forgive you for being crazy and not knowing what you want to do with your life and making me spend all my money on your stupid ideas and f**king that other guy (aka her real husband) because we’re married and we love each other.” I mean, yea he loves her and they were together for a long time, but I couldn’t help thinking maybe there’s someone else for him, maybe there’s something better, maybe he could go back to New York City and get another job and have a whole other life without her.
After I left the theatre, I felt a little uncomfortable for my unquestioning submission to the cult of committed relationships all my life. I’ve had a boyfriend since I was 14 with only a few months of breaks in between because I guess I believe in the committed relationship, I believe that that’s what I’m supposed to do. I believe that I’m looking for that special someone who will complete me and my life. But is that the cult talking, or me? Is it what I want or what society wants me to have?
I don’t know the answer, but I do know that I texted my current boyfriend as I walked out of the theatre, “That was an awful movie”. So if Wanderlust brought the true cult of our society to my attention, it didn’t matter, because I immediately bounced back to my life where I still want the perfect 1-bedroom apartment in Manhattan and I still FaceTime by boyfriend before I go to sleep. Maybe I am part of the committed relationship cult, oh well. At least I don’t have dreadlocks. Gross.
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This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Duke chapter.