The Deconstruction of a Lie: Why ‘People We Meet on Vacation’ Can’t Be ‘When Harry Met Sally’
There is a marketing trope so old, so cynical, and so utterly devoid of originality that it should be officially declared a crime against cinema, specifically a crime against the romantic comedy genre. It’s the comparison to When Harry Met Sally. As soon as the algorithm-driven PR machine decides a new rom-com has enough market potential to warrant a heavy-handed push, out comes the comparison. It’s almost Pavlovian at this point, where the mention of a new friends-to-lovers narrative immediately summons the ghost of Rob Reiner’s 1989 masterpiece, desperately hoping some of its magic will rub off on the shiny new product. Netflix’s new adaptation of Emily Henry’s bestseller, People We Meet on Vacation, is the latest victim (or perpetrator, depending on your perspective) of this lazy-journalism-meets-algorithmic-marketing cycle.
To call it a “millennial gender-swap of When Harry Met Sally” (as one source quoted by the input data suggests) is not a compliment; it’s an admission of failure. It confesses that the new work cannot stand on its own two feet, and instead must lean on the cultural weight of a film released nearly 35 years ago to justify its existence. Let’s logically deconstruct exactly why this comparison is not only false but fundamentally misunderstands the mechanics of both films, exposing the deep divide between genuine cinematic storytelling and content-mill production. A quick glance at the reviews—which describe the film as a “dull journey”—immediately validates the thesis that a cynical replication of nostalgia almost always results in a hollow experience. The film is described as a dull journey. It’s just math at this point. The comparison to When Harry Met Sally immediately sets a bar that no modern film designed for maximum watchability rather than artistic risk can possibly clear. The original film (WHMS, for brevity) succeeded precisely because it was built on a foundation of genuine human anxiety and philosophical debate, while the new version appears designed to simply hit familiar beats and provide comfort viewing for a generation raised on highly predictable formulas.
The Myth of the ‘Millennial Gender Swap’
The core premise of When Harry Met Sally revolves around a specific philosophical question: Can men and women truly be friends without sex getting in the way? This question, posed to various real couples throughout the film, served as a genuine cultural debate in the late 1980s. The film explored the complexities of platonic vs. romantic love in a post-sexual revolution world, where societal norms were shifting rapidly. The protagonists, Harry and Sally, were fundamentally flawed individuals whose anxieties reflected the anxieties of their generation (Generation X, specifically the older, more cynical end of that spectrum). Harry was a misanthrope obsessed with the dark realities of life, while Sally was a control freak obsessed with ordering her existence precisely as she wanted it. Their friction wasn’t just physical; it was ideological. The film’s brilliance lay in showing how two people with completely different worldviews could only find peace by accepting each other’s flaws, culminating in the iconic New Year’s Eve confession. The film wasn’t about a fun vacation; it was about the mundane, messy reality of urban life.
Now, let’s look at the “millennial gender-swap” argument. What does that actually mean? If People We Meet on Vacation is a “gender-swap,” it suggests a reversal or adaptation of these core themes for a modern audience. However, in most contemporary rom-coms of this ilk, the “gender swap” merely amounts to swapping out a male lead with a female lead who exhibits a different set of anxieties, often related to career pressures or social media expectations. The deeper philosophical core of WHMS, however, (the debate about platonic friendship) has largely been resolved for millennials. In 2024, the idea that men and women *can’t* be friends is largely considered antiquated. The new question for millennials isn’t “can we be friends?” but rather “what constitutes a relationship at all in the age of situationships and ghosting?” If People We Meet on Vacation truly wanted to replicate the depth of WHMS, it would need to tackle these modern anxieties head-on, not just re-stage the old arguments in new locations. The comparison to WHMS is therefore not a logical deconstruction but rather a cynical attempt to graft a new, superficial product onto an old, sturdy tree-like structure. The new film simply doesn’t have the philosophical heft to carry the weight of the comparison. It’s just fluff.
The Algorithmic Rom-Com: A Study in Predictability
The very concept of People We Meet on Vacation as a Netflix original immediately signals a high probability of artistic mediocrity and calculated design. Netflix, more than any other studio, operates on an algorithmic model where content creation is less about artistic vision and more about maximizing retention and watch time. The goal is to generate a product that checks all the necessary boxes to keep subscribers from canceling, not to create a lasting piece of art. The rom-com genre, particularly the “dull journey” variety, is perfect for this model. These films provide low-risk, high-comfort viewing. They are designed to be watched in the background, a pleasant distraction rather than an engaging experience. A review calling the movie a “dull journey” is, in fact, an accurate assessment of its intended function within the Netflix ecosystem. It’s not meant to challenge; it’s meant to soothe.
The structure of these algorithmic rom-coms is almost always identical: a set of predictable tropes (enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, fake relationship) mixed with beautiful but interchangeable locations (a vacation provides ample opportunity for B-roll). The characters, while relatable, are often sanitized to avoid alienating any part of the target demographic. This is where the contrast with WHMS becomes starkest. WHMS featured Harry Burns, a character who, in the modern era, might be seen as “problematic” due to his pessimistic and often abrasive personality. He wasn’t designed to be universally likable; he was designed to be real. The Netflix model avoids this kind of risk, favoring characters that are quirky but ultimately harmless. This sanitization process, while commercially effective, drains the film of its dramatic tension. If everyone is ultimately nice and just slightly awkward, where is the conflict? The conflict becomes entirely external—a misunderstanding, a scheduling error, a logistical problem—rather than internal, stemming from deep-seated personality clashes like those between Harry and Sally. The lack of internal friction makes the resolution feel unearned. The characters aren’t changing; they’re simply changing locations, for lack of a better word, locations. It’s a fundamental misunderstanding of character development.
The Economics of Nostalgia and Intellectual Property Mining
The adaptation of a best-selling novel like Emily Henry’s is another strategic move by Netflix that reinforces the idea that this film is less about creative originality and more about intellectual property (IP) mining. In the current streaming wars landscape, new IP is a precious resource. A book that has already demonstrated commercial success, generated a built-in audience, and established a pre-existing brand identity (the Emily Henry brand) significantly reduces the risk for the studio. The audience already knows what to expect, and they are already invested in the characters and story. The comparison to WHMS further enhances this strategy by borrowing cultural cachet from an established classic. It’s a form of financial arbitrage on nostalgia. The studio is essentially saying, “You liked this old thing? We made a new thing that looks like the old thing, but with prettier actors and brighter colors.”
This approach highlights a significant shift in Hollywood’s priorities. In the late 80s and 90s, original screenplays were still a viable path for filmmakers to break through. Films like Sleepless in Seattle, Notting Hill, and even Clueless (an adaptation of a classic novel, but with a unique voice) were built on distinct tones and specific cultural moments. Today, the rom-com genre is dominated by adaptations and reboots. The pressure to generate content quickly and efficiently means that formulaic plots and recognizable source material are prioritized over original concepts. This leads to a glut of content that feels interchangeable, where every new film is just a slightly altered version of the last one. The “dull journey” review is a natural consequence of this industrial process. When the focus shifts from storytelling to content generation, the resulting product is almost always less compelling. The product is designed to fulfill a content quota, not to create art. This makes the new rom-coms feel inherently soulless.
A Generational Divide: Anxiety and Intimacy
Beyond the cinematic structure, a core difference between the Gen X rom-coms (WHMS) and the Millennial rom-coms (like People We Meet on Vacation) lies in their approach to intimacy and anxiety. Gen X rom-coms often dealt with a sense of existential dread. The characters in WHMS were constantly worried about a lack of connection in a large, anonymous city. They were trying to build a life from scratch, navigating high-pressure careers and a dating scene that felt chaotic. The romance in WHMS was earned through years of shared experience and deep vulnerability.
Millennial rom-coms often pivot around a different type of anxiety: FOMO (fear of missing out) and social media pressure. The characters are frequently concerned about finding their “perfect person” in a world of endless options, or achieving a certain aesthetic ideal of life. The romance often feels less like a hard-fought battle against cynicism and more like a gentle, inevitable slide into the preordained conclusion. In People We Meet on Vacation, the characters’ journey (as suggested by the source material) involves revisiting past memories and overcoming logistical obstacles to finally admit their feelings. While valid, this type of conflict often lacks the philosophical depth of WHMS. The conflict in modern rom-coms is often about overcoming a misunderstanding or a bad timing issue, rather than fundamentally changing one’s personality (as Harry had to do). The difference between the two films is profound. WHMS gave us Harry and Sally. This new film gives us characters who are largely defined by their proximity to each other rather than their individual philosophies. The cultural shift is undeniable, and the result is a less complex narrative. The new films are simply less ambitious.
Conclusion: Stop Looking for the Next ‘When Harry Met Sally’
The core issue is that we keep asking for the next great rom-com, but we’re getting algorithmic comfort food instead. The comparison to When Harry Met Sally is a distraction, a marketing ploy designed to mask the lack of original thought in a genre that desperately needs it. We must stop falling for this trap. When a new rom-com arrives on a streaming platform and is immediately compared to a classic, it’s not because it achieves that level of artistic success. It’s because it’s a cynical cash grab trying to capitalize on nostalgia. The logical deconstruction shows that a “dull journey” cannot possibly be a “millennial gender-swap” of a film that defined a generation. It’s time to recognize the difference between genuine art and data-driven content. The former changes you; the latter just fills a void.
