Love is Gone: Why I Miss Nora Ephron

“I would have asked for your number, and I wouldn't have been able to wait 24 hours before calling you up and saying, ‘Hey, how about – oh, how about some coffee or, you know, drinks or dinner or a movie… for as long as we both shall live?’”

Romantic, isn’t it? I melt inside reading this line—no cringe, no eye roll. Just a perfect blend of charm and vulnerability, unpretentious yet resonant. Nearly three decades since You’ve Got Mail, written by Nora Ephron and Delia Ephron, this line is still relatable. I was a baby when it came out. And yet, it feels timeless, as though it was waiting for me, for all of us, just as fresh and achingly true today.

How does a line written so long ago still resonate, untouched by the passing of time, the emergence of dating apps, smartphones, social media’s dizzying presence? Nora knew how to capture something essential about us. Something human, above the noise of cultural shifts and transient trends.

That is what good writing looks like, the kind of writing I find absent in today’s romantic comedies. Speaking personally, the last time I laughed and swooned at a rom-com was nearly ten years ago, when Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone recreated the Dirty Dancing lift in Crazy, Stupid, Love. In the years since, I’ve enjoyed a few rom-coms here and there, but they’re the exceptions—none compare to the 90s and early 2000s classics. Aside from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, what’s left? And that’s not a masterpiece; it’s cute, warm, aimed at a younger audience. Do you know how many romantic comedies were released between 2012 and 2024? ChatGPT tells me there were about 150–200 over the last twelve years.

Yet none of them feel memorable. Not one. I went back through the list just to make sure, to refresh my memory, to see if I was being unfair. And yes, some good movies were made during this time—About Time, Silver Linings Playbook, The Big Sick—but these are dramas, not pure romantic comedies. After? I even watched all four films in that franchise for the sake of research. They were as uninspired as the first had promised.

So, what does this say about us? Is romance dead, or do we simply no longer know how to write it? Watching clips of Jude Law whispering “You’re perfect” in The Holiday or Bridget Jones running through the snow in her underwear, I can’t help but think our emotional needs haven’t changed. We still long for these grand, imperfect gestures.

Nora Ephron knew how to meet that need, how to give us love without resorting to cliches. She created Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, You’ve Got Mail, and Julie & Julia. Ephron was witty, incisive, a quiet master of observation. Sharp, knowing, unafraid to draw parallels between her own life and her characters’, and her work reflects a reality we recognize. A humor that cuts, a warmth that lingers. She left us, after a battle with leukemia, with films that will forever be part of the lexicon of love.

Nancy Meyers deserves mention here too—Something’s Gotta Give, The Holiday, It’s Complicated. Meyers has her own signature: luxurious yet cozy interiors, a pristine white-on-white palette that tells its own story. Her characters practically live within that crisp, effortless style. In a Meyers film, you know you’re safe. You can curl up with a cashmere throw and fall into a world where, somehow, things work out in the end.

What makes a good romantic comedy? First, the writing, of course, but more specifically, a stellar cast. In the 90s and early 2000s, A-listers led these films. Jude Law, Renée Zellweger, Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, Kate Hudson, Matthew McConaughey—names we couldn’t escape. And then there were the pairings that felt electric: Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, their chemistry so potent it felt inevitable.

Each film had its defining moment—the grand finale we replay in our heads. Bridget Jones running half-naked through the snow to Mark Darcy. Heath Ledger serenading Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You. The lift in Dirty Dancing, and then, brilliantly, in Crazy, Stupid, Love. The Empire State Building in Sleepless in Seattle. Jude Law simply breathing in The Holiday. These moments anchored the films, giving us what felt like real romance, crystallized.

The costumes, too, made an impact. Kate Hudson’s unforgettable yellow dress in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. The Banana Republic vibes of Something’s Gotta Give, all white with Ralph Lauren undertones. The iconic shapewear in Bridget Jones’s Diary. Every detail was treated with care, contributing to the story, not simply filling space.

And then there’s the music. Nothing sets a tone like the soundtrack of a rom-com. Bridget Jones gave us All By Myself, I’m Not in Love, Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. Songs that hold the kind of main-character energy we crave.

These are stories woven in warmth, laced with humor, meant to make us feel something. Romantic comedies are not just about laughter, nor are they simply about the high stakes of heartbreak. They’re about finding comfort in love, the way Ephron once said writers were creating the meaning of love. She wanted to show us what it looked like, what it felt like, how it would pull us apart only to stitch us back together. Love, she showed us, could be magical and messy, grand and achingly small. And, somewhere, we believed it.

Today’s rom-coms miss this grace, this charm. They’re bogged down in irony, cynicism, a kind of detachment that’s supposed to be modern but only feels lost. Are they love stories, or just placeholders? Movies are metaphors, after all. Rom-coms, at their best, remind us that love, with all its complications, is best touched upon with humor, to take us closer to comfort than despair. Right now, we need love more than ever in a world so overly connected it leaves us feeling nowhere.

The problem isn’t genre; it’s not even formula. Look at horror films in the early 2000s—they were mostly derivative and shallow. But today, with the influence of directors like Jordan Peele and Ari Aster, the genre has been revived, bringing horror to an almost cerebral level, inspired by the psychological depth of Hitchcock, Lynch, and Kubrick. Horror became artful, layered, intellectual. Why can’t the same happen to rom-coms?

Romantic comedy deserves this revival. Comedy doesn’t have to mean cheap laughs; romance doesn’t have to mean trite fantasies. The Favourite and The Grand Budapest Hotel are comedies, but they have wit and depth, even a dark intelligence. They remind us that genre isn’t a limitation; it’s a tool.

When I think of romance, I think of Casablanca, Last Tango in Paris, Before Sunrise, Call Me By Your Name. Movies that make love feel like discovery, not a gimmick. So, is it really so hard to combine romance and comedy without losing what makes both worth watching?

Are rom-coms dead? Or is it just a phase—a lull, a dip in a genre waiting for someone to come along and breathe new life into it?