I love romantic comedies. I like to watch them and I like to be

Hear the words of Julia Roberts, the queen of luminous smiles and timeless roles, who declared: “I love romantic comedies. I like to watch them and I like to be in them. It’s something that’s increasingly difficult to find—that spark of originality that makes it different than the ones that came before.” These words shine with both affection and lament. For Roberts, who gave the world such treasures as Pretty Woman and Notting Hill, speaks as one who has lived inside the very heart of the genre. She names her love for it, but also her sorrow—that what was once new, vibrant, and surprising now struggles against the weight of repetition.

The romantic comedy is no small invention of cinema. It is the modern descendant of Shakespeare’s playful tales—of Much Ado About Nothing and Twelfth Night—where laughter and love dance together, where mistaken identities give way to true hearts revealed. In every age, such stories have been cherished, for they remind us of joy, of possibility, of the belief that love may come unexpectedly and transform ordinary life into wonder. Roberts, herself an heir to this tradition, acknowledges the magic of these tales. Yet she also reminds us that magic must be renewed, for a story told too often without freshness becomes hollow.

The struggle she names—the loss of originality—is not confined to film. In every art, in every age, creators wrestle with the burden of those who came before. The painters of the Renaissance sought to surpass the ancients; the poets of the Romantics struggled against the shadows of classical form; the musicians of each century tried to compose melodies both familiar and new. So it is with romantic comedies: the lovers meet, the sparks fly, the obstacles arise, and the inevitable reconciliation arrives. How, then, can one breathe originality into a pattern so beloved yet so worn? Roberts’ question echoes across all fields of creation.

Consider the tale of Miguel de Cervantes, who in the seventeenth century looked upon the countless tales of chivalric knights that had flooded Spain. They were repetitive, predictable, their sparkle dulled by overuse. Yet instead of abandoning the form, Cervantes transformed it. He wrote Don Quixote, a work that mocked and honored the old tales, turning them inside out while still giving the world something new. His originality came not from rejecting the past but from reshaping it. This, too, is the challenge Roberts calls forth in her reflection: to honor the genre while daring to reimagine it.

Her words also hold a deeper truth about life itself. In love, as in art, people often repeat the same gestures, the same patterns of affection, the same expectations of romance. Yet without originality, even relationships can grow stale. To love someone deeply is to find new ways to delight them, new sparks of tenderness, new ways of telling the same eternal story: I choose you, again and again. Thus the wisdom of Roberts’ lament becomes universal. Originality is not only for filmmakers, but for lovers, friends, and dreamers.

The lesson is therefore this: love what you love, but never let it grow stagnant. Whether in art or in life, seek the spark that renews, the small flame of originality that sets one moment apart from all that came before. If you are a creator, dare to twist the pattern, to surprise the heart. If you are a lover, dare to imagine new ways of giving joy. If you are a seeker, dare to look at the familiar with fresh eyes. Originality is not the rejection of tradition, but the reawakening of wonder within it.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember Roberts’ words. Do not abandon the stories that bring joy—cherish them, honor them—but always ask: how may I tell this story anew? How may I live this love freshly? How may I bring the spark into what others have already touched a thousand times? For it is in this spark that art becomes alive, and love becomes eternal.

Thus, the wisdom of Julia Roberts resounds: romantic comedies remain beloved, but they endure only when the flame of originality is kept alive. And so it is with life itself—our days may resemble one another, but with imagination, each day can still shine as though it were the first.