If there's one movie that doesn't deserve to be seen from a kindly perspective, it's definitely Love Actually.

Things have changed since 2003, and having rewatched the film, I can say: thank goodness, because few films seem as embarrassingly out of step with modern feminism as Love Actually.

Every Christmas, millions of people watch this film that has become one of the leading romantic comedies and is considered a “Christmas classic” by Americans. Many fans are delighted with the idea of ​​seeing these characters again. But, to use a phrase that definitely didn't exist in 2003, this favorite is toxic.

Even when it was released, there were some complaints about Curtis's preference for extravagant romantic gestures over character development. But even if it proved to be quite popular, the movie also got old quickly. More and more critics online are acknowledging the creepy interpretation of romance it offers (most famously the hilarious depiction of Jezebel).

All the power and will belongs to the male characters, while the women, often the youngest employees, are silent, appreciative, and pretty. Women who have concerns or responsibilities beyond pleasing men seem to be punished without a love and by having to listen to Joni Mitchell.

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It also appears to be surprisingly heteronormative: nine stories, and all of them heterosexual. Same-sex romance is lightly mocked, but never shown or celebrated (a lesbian scene was filmed, but cut). Obviously, everyone is hoping that by the reunion, aging rock star Billy Mack and his devoted manager will end up together. I'd wager that the lack of gay stories is going to be addressed in some way, at least.

What will happen to the representation of women? We just have to wait. Obviously, Love Actually isn't the only movie to feature female characters as pure wish-fulfilment. Men have always dominated the industry. Most of the movies we see are filmed from the male perspective and put women as objects of desire to be acquired. But for such a beloved movie, which isn't really that old, Love Actually feels particularly offensive, replete with examples of bottomless women catering to men's needs and desires.

So, in an act of ruthless cynicism against this overly optimistic and cloying rom-com, we present to you all the reasons why the relationships in Love Actually make the movie downright uncomfortable to watch.

Mark and Juliet

The kind of man who hires unwanted “surprise” prostitutes for his friend's bachelor party may not be a man full of emotional intelligence. But Mark, played by Andrew Lincoln, becomes a depraved. Since he was secretly in love with his best friend's fiancée (Keira Knightley), he only records her at the wedding. In many extreme close-ups and of course without saying anything, just a pretty face appeared, over and over again. This masturbatory tape is an almost comical and unabashed example of the male gaze in cinema: the camera literally frames his lust, the viewer presents Knightley through his adoring eyes. But it also seems to visually convey something about male control: in the shots he cuts her down, holds her back, places limits on the terrifying object of desire.

Because Mark is afraid: afraid of how much he likes Juliet. Even though he doesn't even know her. Juliet says “but you never talk to me…you don't like me”. Mark put her on a pedestal because of her looks, regardless of her personality or intellect. Maybe if he had bothered to talk to her, he would have realized that they had irreconcilable views on the Iraq war or the new Radiohead record or whatever else people were talking about in 2003, and he could have gotten over it

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Instead, we got the movie's most famous scene: Mark shows up to declare his love with handwritten cards, because it's Christmas and at Christmas we tell the truth. Oh really? Isn't it more the time for white lies like “I love it, you wouldn't have bothered”? And, after all, who he considers "perfect" is his best friend's wife. You'd better have kept it in your Santa hat, Mark.

Sam and Joanna

Sam (Thomas Brodie-Sangster) is just a kid, but he's tragically in love with Joanna (Olivia Olson), the coolest girl in school, who doesn't even know he exists. But you are never too young to start learning how to “make” a woman like you. “I have a plan,” says Sam. "Women love musicians." So he decides to learn to play the drums.

This plot is basically the story of Mark and Juliet in miniature. Why not try talking to her instead of just admiring her from afar? Maybe talking would be better than pretending to like playing music to trick them into liking you? Don't stop being true to yourself, little Sam.

Jamie and Aurelia

Poor handsome novelist Jamie (Colin Firth) is cheated on by his girlfriend and has to go to France to lick his wounds. His housekeeper is Aurelia (Lucia Moniz), a Portuguese woman who does not speak English. They fall in love despite being literally unable to communicate. In another grand romantic gesture (or swaggering gesture of male entitlement), he shows up at Christmas to ask her, his youngest employee with whom he's never had a single conversation, to marry him. This seems superficial at best and deranged at worst. It's the lazy romantic's dream come true: landing the perfect woman without having to bother to meet her.

The other thing that's really annoying about this plot is when they jump into a lake to save the pages of their book. It's a raunchy slow-motion shot that runs up and down Moniz's body as he removes his clothes and performs a graceful dive, while Firth is allowed to throw himself fully clothed and splash around looking like a fool. Be serious, Colin is famous for the wet shirt scene; if we're going to ogle each other, can there at least be equal opportunity to do so?

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Sarah and Karl

We know Laura Linney's character, Sarah, isn't going to end well: she wears scruffy skirts and oversized sweaters with terrifying butterfly brooches. Neither does she prioritize romance and a man's sexual pleasure above all else.

After the office party, the spruced up version of Sarah finally gets involved with her crush of years, the handsome Karl (Rodrigo Santoro, whose torso shows the film wastes time on female lust). But Sarah's phone keeps ringing and she keeps answering. To be fair, it's his brother who is mentally ill and he literally sounds like he's about to kill himself. I like to think that most men would understand; they would agree to see each other another day. I mean, maybe they'd even ask a few questions, see how they could help...

But not Karl. Not in Love Actually. In the land of rom-coms, apparently a man can't share a woman with another man, even if it's his sick brother. And a woman cannot have her own life or responsibilities; she must be available at all times to attend to the man's needs. You'll be back in woolen clothes, Sarah.

Colin and all the American bonbons

When we meet Colin (Kris Marshall), he seriously insults a wedding caterer to her face. Instead of being embarrassed and apologizing, he decides that his problem is that British women are conceited. You need to go to the United States to flirt.

Right away, he meets three very attractive girls, who love his accent and end up taking him home for an orgy. Of course, they are pure sexual objects and this plot is the complete gratification of male desires, but at least everything plays out ironically and ends up being comedic and outright ridiculous. Or maybe by the end of the movie I was too tired to care.

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Harry and Karen

Alan Rickman is the laid-back, mature boss Harry; his sexy young secretary Mia (Heike Makatsch) literally spreads her legs in front of him. She's so seductively evil that she wears devil horns to a Christmas party. Do you think it's Halloween? Who knows.

There's no doubt that the woman is the one on the hunt, but he still has the advantage of power and status. He is the boss. She calls him "sir," for crying out loud (did anyone call her boss "sir" back in 2003?). And then there's the matter of her asking him for a nice gift after the very obvious offer of sex. This is nauseating, at best.

Finally, there's poor Karen, Harry's wife, played by Emma Thompson in the film's only truly human and multifaceted performance. She wears voluminous velvet, worries about being fat, and is a little harried from chasing after the kids (no sign of Rickman helping make her pastoral costumes, right?). Karen is also the only person we see sad in the final happy couples scene of the movie. Because? Because she's not a perky twenty-something “hottie”? Because you challenge your husband for his behavior and make him feel bad?

The message certainly seems to be: only women who are sensual and make their men happy do have their own happy endings. Fuck you, Richard Curtis. That, seriously, is not right.