The Sun-Herald

Scrap V Day; let's have International Heartbreak Day instead

As I watched the erotic and gripping but ultimately depressing movie Lust, Caution last night, I was reminded again why I believe Valentine's Day should be replaced with International Heartbreak Day.

Without spoiling the movie's plot (although I will warn you that during the latter half its stars tie themselves naked into knots beyond the scope of even the most complicated naval nautical manual), what happens between the lovers is a grander scale version of what lovers do to each other everywhere, every day and always have. Hurt, betrayal, let-down.
And although it's safe to say none of us had experienced the above in quite as extreme a manner as the movie's characters, we all felt the pain. Relished it, even.
"Do you think we should have gone to see 27 Dresses instead?" said my friend as we wiped the tears away and drank therapeutic wine.
No, we agreed. Romantic comedy is irritating but grand, mad, bad love - especially when adorned by the bare bottom of Tony Leung - is a far better way to spend $15.
Love-related misery makes friends of us all. I remember a while ago a heartbroken neighbour used to play Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinead O' Connor so regularly and loudly I eventually had no choice but to try to drown it out with my favourite Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar Music Greats CD. Bad idea. Within minutes everyone was yelling at me, while no-one had complained about our resident prince/princess of pain.
I'd thought they'd much rather listen to Lovely Hula Hands than the soundtrack to someone's private hell. But of course, this wasn't true. The world loves a wounded lover, and - as long as they display a little more variety in their musical choices - so do I. The cries of the heartbroken rarely fail to move even tough nuts, because it's a pain we all know and even if we're lucky enough not to, we understand.
If Princess Diana hadn't been a habitual love casualty, I suspect she wouldn't have held quite the same sacred place in the global consciousness. Her agony was ours. She behaved, in heartbreak, as we all can; the brave face hiding hideous meltdowns only publicly hinted at but recognized by anyone who's loved and lost. Obsessive phone calls, tears, tantrums, compulsive shopping, 'look at what you're missing' dressing. I suspect the palace walls often resounded with the strains of Di's own heartbreak soundtrack, probably provided by Elton John.
Imagine if we had an annual worldwide celebration of heartbreak rather than Valentine's Day which, let's face it, is an ordeal for many, a chore for some and a mixed experience for anyone with a less than fulsome love life. International Heartbreak Day celebrations could include radio stations devoted to heartbreak requests, back-to-back tearjearkers on TV, special comfort chocolate gifts to buy for yourself or your heartbroken friends and an amnesty on drunken phone calls, recriminations and emails. You could take out newspaper ads to your exes with creative insults instead of fluffy nicknames.
Imagine how cathartic it would be. And how unifying. The whole world could bond over heartbreaks old and new - our pain reminding us all that we're human. A much better shared experience than Valentine's Day, which splits everyone so neatly into losers and winners in happiness.
It wouldn't be anti-love. Just the opposite, in fact. It would honour how crucial love is, how central to our lives. After all, you suffer most for things you believe in, and without remembering the hurts it's hard to appreciate the successes.
I'd be willing to organize the Australian celebrations, with just one proviso: no Sinead O' Connor.