High Fidelity

High Fidelity is one of those movies that sits a bit to the left of your typical rom-com. It is more self-aware, more neurotic, and unapologetically steeped in pop culture. John Cusack is Rob, a record store owner perpetually stuck in a mixtape of failed relationships and self-analysis. The film is heavy on fourth wall breaks, with Cusack inviting us directly into his messy love life and even messier vinyl collection.

What really worked for me was the tone—equal parts cynical and sincere. There’s an unvarnished, almost confessional honesty here that you don’t get in a lot of romantic movies from this period. Instead of painting heartbreak in broad, melodramatic strokes, the script (based on Nick Hornby’s novel) lingers in the awkwardness and pettiness of breakups. The banter feels natural and dry, especially whenever Jack Black's character, Barry, is in the store. He’s a tornado of comic relief.

Pacing-wise, it never really drags, mostly because Rob’s self-indulgent journey is constantly punctuated by quick cuts and little storytelling tricks. One minute he’s making another "Top 5" list for everything in his life; the next, he’s being hilariously eviscerated by someone he wronged. Still, if you’re not a fan of this kind of meta, navel-gazing narrative, it might get old quick. At times, it can seem like the movie is a little too in love with its own cleverness.

The cinematography isn’t anything showy, but the Chicago setting gives everything a cool, lived-in authenticity. The film is basically a love letter to music nerds, with crates of dusty records, late-night DJ sets, and constant references to the "perfect" playlist for every emotion. If you catch even half the music cues and references, you’ll feel smugly rewarded.

Cusack nails that unhealthy mix of charm and cluelessness. Sometimes you want to root for Rob, other times you want to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him to grow up. The secondary cast, particularly Iben Hjejle as Laura, brings a lot of depth—nobody here is just a prop for Rob’s personal growth. The film treats Laura’s side of the story with respect, which keeps things more balanced than you might expect given the male POV.

But let’s be real: High Fidelity is a product of its time. Some of the perspectives haven’t aged perfectly, and it is very much about a guy who can’t get over himself. Yet, that’s kind of the point. The emotional weight sneaks up on you, especially as Rob is forced to confront his own immaturity. For anyone who’s nursed a broken heart in their twenties (or thirties), the ending hits a sweet, bittersweet note.