When will Hollywood stop ignoring the financial power of romance novels?

Over the last two weeks, two properties with romance novels at their cores have dominated the pop-culture landscape.

Bridgerton's second season, which debuted March 25 on Netflix, proved the immense success of its first season wasn't a fluke, while The Lost City stood as a firm reminder that original, studio-driven rom-coms still hold box office power.

Many speculated that Bridgerton's record-setting debut was born from a quarantine-driven need for lush, sexy escapism (with an added boost from the power of the Shondaland brand). Few seemed to credit its source material, Julia Quinn's bestselling romance novels.

Would season 2 — released in a world creeping back to some version of normalcy — possibly draw as much interest? Particularly without its breakout cast member, Regé-Jean Page, now making a bid at movie stardom? It could, and it did: Bridgerton's second season set a record for the most-watched Netflix English-language TV title during its premiere weekend, and then broke the record for most viewed English-language title in a week.

A slower burn with far fewer sex scenes, season 2 offered an alternative to a steamier season 1, proving that romantic tension — encapsulated in searingly seductive dialogue, like "You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires" — will make audiences swoon, even when delivered by the fully-dressed. There is, in short, a version of Bridgerton for everyone.

Then there's The Lost City, a comedy-adventure with romance novelist Loretta Sage (Sandra Bullock) and her himbo cover model, Alan (Channing Tatum), as its protagonists. It came in first on its opening weekend with a $31 million domestic haul that marked a record-setting opening for a female-driven feature during the pandemic. Now in its second week, it fell only to second place this past weekend, behind the existing IP power of Sony and Marvel's Morbius.

Since The Lost City was first announced, parallels were drawn between it and Romancing the Stone, an ur-text for most romance authors and readers who came of age during or after that film's 1984 debut. (We should have stickers that say "Ask Me About Joan Wilder.")

But romance lovers braced for The Lost City — first leeringly titled The Lost City of D — with caution. We feared that it would simply make romance novels the butt of its jokes, painting Loretta as a sad, lonely woman (she is, but it's because she's grieving the loss of her husband), and making tired nods to Fabio (there is one, but thank God, it's actually funny). By some miracle, the film avoids those traps and celebrates the genre instead.

When it does poke fun, it's winking, with jokes made lovingly rather than mockingly, as with its satirizing of Alan's tendency (and his fans' adoration of said tendency) to rip off his shirt. The film kicks off with a strong endorsement of the genre, with Loretta's publisher, Beth (Da'Vine Joy Randolph), dishing out stats on the romance industry's enormous sales numbers and its importance in publishing overall. "Romancelandia," a collective online moniker for romance novelists and readers, could sink into the film, sensing we were in good hands.

Even when Loretta questions the genre's value, calling her books "schlock," the movie doesn't let her barb stand. Alan rebuts her, saying anything that brings people as much happiness as her books can't be schlock. Can Romancelandia put that on a billboard, please? Or maybe just email it in a memo to every development department in Hollywood?

The cultural and financial success of projects like Bridgerton and The Lost City shows a clear hunger for material inspired by romance novels, one of the most successful genres in the publishing industry. So, why won't Hollywood wake up and smell the rose-petal-infused sheets?

Last year, I was optimistic that the mega-success of Bridgerton and the ensuing internet thirst would be a boon for romance publishing, spurring Hollywood to invest in the largely untapped genre. "Bridgerton seems to have re-energized a lot of enthusiasm for the genre, and people are realizing there's a business opportunity here," Jinny Howe, Netflix's VP of original series, said then.

Romance authors like Rebekah Weatherspoon pointed to an enduring "disconnect" between Hollywood executives and romance readers. (One such disconnect: thinking Nicholas Sparks writes romance, when his books might better be called tragic romantic fiction, breaking romance's only hard-and-fast rule of a happy ending.) But there was a new hope that the genre would finally find its place in Hollywood boardrooms. "They're willing to take you more seriously, and 'romance novel' doesn't result in an immediate door slam the way it once did," said Leah Koch, co-owner of The Ripped Bodice bookstore, who has a first-look deal with Sony Pictures Television. "It is easier to get meetings, and they are more interested in what we're selling."

Avon editor Erika Tsang also noted an uptick in informational meeting requests from producers and executives. Indeed, there was a flurry of novels being optioned before and after Bridgerton, including Weatherspoon's Cowboys of California series, Mia Sosa's The Worst Best Man, Alyssa Cole's A Princess in Theory, Helen Hoang's The Kiss Quotient, Christina Lauren's Roomies and The UnHoneymooners, Kennedy Ryan's Hoops/All the King's Men series, and more.

But a year later, none of those projects have seemed to move out of development hell. They've not announced casting news, much less a projected start date for production. And anecdotally, authors and editors tell me the same thing: The phone is not ringing.

There are thousands of romance novels out there waiting to be adapted into your favorite new rom-com, the next binge-worthy historical streaming series, or a million projects in between. These are books prepackaged with passionate fanbases, well-developed characters, impeccable world-building, and swoony love stories. Heck, journalists have already done the research, rounding up plenty of the best of these titles for use by development departments. All Hollywood has to do is put its money where its mouth is.

We know Hollywood can be slow on the uptake. It seems like every two to five years, it has to re-learn that women are a powerful box office force (see: Mamma Mia, Bridesmaids, etc.). But with Bridgerton proving itself twice over (while other Shondaland Netflix fare like Inventing Anna hasn't come near the same numbers), and with The Lost City drawing more people out of the house for a female-driven movie than any other title during the pandemic, isn't it worth asking why?

One typical answer to this conundrum is sexism: Female-focused content is institutionally belittled and dismissed. There's an abundance of truth to that, but the conversation needs to consider that romance readers and writers comprise far more folks than simply cis-het women.

What will it take to get executives to see the storytelling potential in the rich catalogues of romance imprints? Why wasn't there a Bridgerton effect beyond optioning a flurry of titles, many of which went on to languish in development? Is Hollywood really that unimaginative or shortsighted?

Bridgerton has spawned not just massively successful viewing numbers but makeup lines, branded teas, Halloween costumes, and an entire Regency experience for fans to live out their Instagram-ready fantasies. The Lost City, an original, mid-budget rom-com that feels rarer these days than an archaeological treasure, fell only $4 million short of the 2018 opening weekend for Crazy Rich Asians, back before theatrical attendance was hamstrung by the pandemic.

Romance publishing could be a cash cow for mainstream Hollywood. The evidence is right in front of our eyes. Hollywood just needs to open its pocketbooks and let audiences fall in love.

Related content:

• 15 historical romance series Hollywood should adapt after Bridgerton
• The cast of Bridgerton breaks down how their characters would respond to our favorite thirst tropes
• The Lost City cast on 'zany' shoot, nearly losing Daniel Radcliffe: 'We're going to kill him'