“Tom could be a really great architect if he wanted to be,” announces Summer from an elevated background like a Grecian choral Id during a loft party late in 500 Days of Summer. Indeed, Tom's problem is that he doesn't try hard at anything. He's almost fired then quits from his job as a greeting card writer; he gets drunk on a blind date and sadly expounds about his romantic failures; his heavy sweaters and disheveled appearance complete with cowlicks often reflect his lackadaisical disinterest with his life; he cannot even muster enough effort to beat an 8 year old at Wii tennis.
So why do care when Summer rejects him? Because he could be something or more accurately could become something. He could be an architect and he could also be a really great boyfriend for Summer if he wanted to be and if she wanted him. He has all the qualities that would seem necessary to succeed in this relationship. He's attractive, he's funny enough, he has an affinity for obscure hipster causes, and he has a meaningless job that affords him enough disposable income, but Summer is left wanting something that she can't put her finger on. This intangible quality is what separates Tom from being a boyfriend and being “perfectly adequately,” the effacing compliment she pays him on first meeting him.
Their fling begins innocently enough. At a karaoke night for the office, a garrulous coworker informs Summer that Tom likes her. She tries to confirm but Tom shields his insecurity behind the addendum, “as friends.” Given his inability to gather his rosebuds, that should be that but Summer won't relent because she finds Tom “interesting,” another disarming but underwhelming expression. At this stage, we have seen little to support this adjective, but the film smartly utilizes a number of cinematic gambits such as POV daydreams, a brilliant split screen of reality vs. expectations, a musical number and a non-linear narrative clearly inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind that allow us snapshots of the more interesting Tom from their relationship and its aftermath.
Still even in the flashbacks of their liaison’s heights, Tom is shallow and his strongest characteristic is his passivity. His attempted romantic overtures including double entredres and overanalyzing casual conversations such as “How was your weekend?” do provide superb comedic relief but also belie Tom's true nature of being a Palahniukian “single serving” entity. He thinks Summer is the one for him because she likes The Smiths and spontaneously she kissed him at work. He further admires her Belle & Sebastian yearbook quotation and her strange ability to increase yogurt sales. But Tom is brought crashing down to Earth by the common sense quipping 8 year old Rachel who opines, “Just because she likes the same bizzaro crap you do doesn't mean she's your soul mate.”
We want to like Tom and his coupling with Summer because we view their first few dates where he is genuinely charming and witty. But once things begin to take a turn for the worse, Tom is only able to repeat the same jokes hoping to rekindle that initial spark. After the break up, he continually tells his friends that he will get her back but only sends Summer an email message and waits for a terse reply. When they request updates, he evades the subject because unlike Lloyd Dobler of Say Anything or even Ben Braddock of The Graduate on whom he has mistakenly based his entire notion of love, he has no grand gestures to offer because he has no creativity that we can see. His crowning life achievements are a Bar Mitsvah greeting card and a framed sketch on his desk.
His existence and their relationship is infused with markers of impermanence and dissociation. Instead of a portfolio or sketchbook, he draws skylines on arms that can be washed and chalkboards that can be erased. Rather than moving in together, he and Summer visit an Ikea and pantomime the intimacy of a more mature couple. Even when exiting, the camera can't help but linger on the Ikea tagline that proudly states, “We make true everyday quality” echoing their perfectly adequate but unextraordinary relationship.
His paralyzing inertia carries over into the rest of the film. The film's initial narrative movement is not from Tom, but from Rachel's frantic bike pedaling to get to Tom's apartment and help console the dumpee. But once she arrives, we see there was no hurry because Tom is roboticly breaking dishes – even his tantrums lack passion. Later, in a sepia-toned home movie reel where his friends peer directly into the lense and give their own definitions of love, when it is his turn, he pauses awkwardly and turns off the camera because he doesn't have an answer. More and more, Tom seems a supporting character in his own movie.
It is only after their break-up and toward the end of the film that he begins to show signs of life. When he painstakingly croons The Clash's “Train in Vain” with a fiery resonance and defiantly walks out of a board meeting, we can feel him turning a corner. He abandons his nostalgia for the affair's highs and begins to remember its belittling lows. He goes after his dream job and meets a new potential flame whose name fittingly enough is Autumn, the season of change. The final revelatory encounter with Summer is a necessary catharsis for the audience, the character, and perhaps the creator whose story obviously has a lot of personal relevance. For once, if his real life pain led to this artistic fruit, one could honestly say, “Breaking up with her was the best thing to ever happen to him.”
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