The Romance of Intimacy

The typical romantic comedy begins with a chance encounter. Boy meets girl, Harry meets Sally, Tom Hanks meets Meg Ryan, and so on. Said boy and girl then enter a fraught game of will-they-won’t-they, rife with emotional ups and downs and potentially relationship-ending obstacles. Maybe he’s a playboy who’s not ready for commitment. Maybe she’s engaged to someone else. Or maybe the President of the United States comes on to her in front of him (thanks, Love Actually). Whatever the issue, it tends to culminate in a sweeping romantic gesture – like John Cusack and his boombox in Say Anything – that brings the couple together at last. 

Pretty much every good rom-com rests on this formula: the long game of waiting that ends in a grand display of love and a happily ever after. 

Ryan J. Haddad’s show Hold Me in the Water also begins with a chance encounter. Ryan meets a kind, handsome man at an artist residency, and the sparks fly in a way that feels like fate. Then there is a long period of wondering and waiting – waiting for Ryan’s beau to get back into town, waiting for him to end things with another lover, and waiting for their happily ever after to finally begin. 

But Hold Me in the Water is not a stereotypical romantic comedy. For one thing, it’s a queer love story. And while the genre has made room in recent years for some queer entries (with the Jane Austen-inspired Fire Island and perennial ‘90s classic But I’m A Cheerleader among the best-loved), it is still dominated by heterosexual tropes. With its specificity and honesty, Ryan’s story brings refreshing authenticity to a landscape still rife with commercialized attempts to pander to queer audiences. 

The play also breaks from tradition in its form: there is a single performer. Most rom-coms hinge on the chemistry between two celebrity leads, but this one relies on Ryan, alone, to convey the push and pull of its central couple. And while the prototypical rom-com often features its protagonists turning to their friends-slash-comedic-sidekicks to vent about their romantic frustrations, Ryan turns to the audience. He’s putting on a show for us, yes, but he is also inviting us to share genuinely unguarded moments with him. 

This profound intimacy is at the core of Ryan’s play. Intimacy is built upon vulnerability and honesty – two things that are often scarce in the traditional rom-com. And unlike romance, which is about displays and declarations, intimacy is a deep, private connection between two people. It stems from more than just mutual attraction – there must also be trust and care. 

The love that Ryan experiences in Hold Me in the Water is borne out of quiet moments of intimacy and, in particular, access intimacy. Coined by the disability activist Mia Mingus in her 2011 essay Access Intimacy: The Missing Link, the term refers to the “freeing, light, loving feeling” when another person intuitively understands your access needs (physical or otherwise) without needing to be told. In the play, Ryan describes it as “a kinetic kind of closeness… When the practical becomes emotional.” When his crush holds Ryan in his arms for an entire afternoon at the lake in the play’s titular scene, it isn’t for the benefit of those who are watching, and there isn’t a big event made of the gesture. What’s important is the way it makes Ryan feel, and the connection that forms as a result. 

Hold Me in the Water draws on all the best parts of the romantic comedy: the excitement of the meet-cute, the awkward yet funny situations, the thrill of anticipating that first kiss. But it resists easy gratification, and in doing so, introduces us to a new, more human version of the genre – one rooted in patient intimacy and connection. And with his singular charm and disarming humor, Ryan is able to spontaneously create a close relationship with each audience member every night; he makes us feel as though we’ve known him our whole lives. In this way, the play is also a love story between Ryan and the audience, who becomes a closer and closer confidant as Ryan’s relationship grows more intense. We leave the theater not only having learned about the beauty of intimacy – sitting there with Ryan, we’ve lived it.