Autumn in New York: A 2024 review of outdated romance

**contains spoilers**

“I did not just waste 103 minutes of my life to watch this in 2024.” That’s what I wrote in my Letterboxd review right after finishing Autumn in New York. I often struggle to express negative opinions, but the other night, sitting in front of my laptop and feeling a mix of laughter and disgust while watching certain scenes, I realized that writing a negative review with the right dose of irony could actually be a lot of fun and help me vent. So here I am, ready to guide you through my sharp critique of Autumn in New York.

Let’s start with a few disclaimer. The film is from 2000 and, as becomes quickly evident, it has aged poorly. Let’s just acknowledge upfront that it belongs to a time rife with gender and narrative stereotypes, which means that, to some extent, it’s not entirely its fault. Up to a point, anyway. Watching it in 2024, however, makes some of the dialogues downright hair-raising, but unfortunately some of the dynamics are still deeply rooted in nowadays relationships, and getting rid of them is easier said than done.

I went into the movie knowing nothing about the plot, except that it was set in New York during the fall season (not hard to guess from the title) and that it was a love story starring Richard Gere. “What did you expect with that premise?” you might ask—and you’d be right. But those who know me are aware that I’m infamous for spotting non-existent potential in even the most transparently hopeless cases. Stubborn as ever, I dove right in, ignoring its ominous 5.6 IMDb rating—which, after watching, I’d argue is generous. Besides, it’s autumn, I’ve long dreamed of a trip to the U.S., and I was craving some fall vibes. I can confirm that the orange trees were the only thing that kept me going.

Now, the plot. A hyper-stereotypical love story in which the resident womanizer, unable to keep it in his pants, is painted as a charming Casanova, a master of seduction with a confident and magnetic aura. Beneath his severe emotional and relational immaturity, of course, lies a deep fear of love and commitment that torments him dramatically, leaving behind a trail of women—each ditched with the same script-like line—for the sole purpose of stroking his ego (which is clearly not the only inflated thing). Enter a young woman half his age, incidentally the daughter of an old flame—a detail that oddly doesn’t seem to bother the characters as much as it should. Naturally, she’s terminally ill because what’s a tearjerker without a tragic illness? And, to cap it all off, she’s seemingly a virgin, setting up excellent material for a certain contemporary masterpiece, Fifty Shades of Grey, 15 years later.

Amidst all these clichés, the story unfolds predictably: she falls in love, thinking it’s mutual, while he proves once again his inability to control bodily fluids, breaking yet another heart—this time one that’s already fragile from illness. Was missing from the collection. Between cringeworthy dialogues and lines as brilliant as “She’s the perfect woman: young, beautiful, and on her way out”, we get a passive and naive female lead, played by Winona Ryder. She quickly takes him back when he comes groveling, turning the tables in an embarrassingly manipulative way: “Will you let me love you?”—making her seem like the one running away from her feelings. Naturally, the terminally ill woman exists to teach our relentless bachelor how to love. Maybe because he’s comforted by the fact that she’ll soon be gone, making eternal love promises much easier to keep?

After numerous desperate attempts to find a cure, awkward fainting spells, and profound lines like “Food is the only beautiful thing that truly nourishes”, she tragically passes away. Curtain falls on a devastated Richard Gere, who’s lost the only person capable of breaking down his emotional walls. “In one year, you’ll have a story to tell to get more chicks”—et voilà. Oh, and I almost forgot—he has a daughter, though their relationship remains largely unexplored. At one point, he asks for her forgiveness for something, which, considering his character’s tendencies, leaves room for unsettling interpretations. Did he 'simply' abandon her? Or worse? By now, nothing would shock us, given that dating your deceased ex’s cancer-stricken daughter is somehow considered normal here.

In conclusion, if you’re in the mood for some laughs and want to mock the script and direction of a film that, in my opinion, can now only be viewed with a mix of anger and sarcasm, Autumn in New York might do the trick. But don’t expect anything. Today, 24 years later, efforts are thankfully being made to reverse the trend of portraying dysfunctional and unbalanced relationship dynamics on screen, rooted in the outdated and sexist trope of the womanizer conquering all. In these narratives, women are often depicted as bland personalities in marginal roles—because, even here, the real protagonist is the man, and the woman serves merely as a device to achieve a goal, only to die once it’s accomplished. The aim now is to replace these characters with stronger female leads, more vulnerable men, and healthier, more realistic dynamics. Nobody Wants This has been talked about a lot lately—not particularly impressive, but a good example of this trend. After enduring the horror I witnessed for just over an hour and a half, I find myself appreciating its effort even more.