Invariably, in any field but especially in the arts, and particularly in the movies, the acclaim for a practical development often goes not to its inventor but to whoever improved it or made a better display of it. That one tends to be more ambitious, astute, or skilled in self-promotion, and it is a tradition of sorts in motion pictures, unwittingly started by as big a man as Thomas Edison who failed to see what the eventual Hollywood moguls would so efficiently exploit for two fourths of a century.

Audiences, then, can be thoroughly dumbfounded by a clever appropriation and infer from it a profundity that is absent, for it belongs to the inventor; this rule is so consistent that even an exception to it somehow confirms it. Michel Gondry may be a known, innovative music video director yet one of his designs is now called "bullet-time” for it became known worldwide after being used- and many would think invented -by the Wachowski brothers in “The Matrix.”

What would happen, then, in the improbable likelihood of two films that were to share not only a near release date but also the use of a similar new film technique, that is, an aspect of their design so novel that it was meant to differentiate them, to make it their idiosyncrasy?

One possible outcome is that such a coincidence dispels the magic the new effect was meant to give. This, in theory, allows for a better viewing of the other artistic merits, but for it to happen more concurrences are in order, like a fairly similar target audience that would be aware of this and, likewise, a minimum of matching quality in both productions.

No two genres could then be further apart in ambitions or objectives, for this coincidence to be noted- nor two audiences in the least likely to mix with one another -than a serious drama, like Alejandro Gonzalez Iñarritu’s portentous “21 Grams,” already reviewed here, and the affable directorial debut of screenwriter Richard Curtis, “Love Actually.”

The editing in both is an overbearing, fundamental piece in their design; in both cases it embellishes the unraveling of multiple narratives so cleverly that it makes following the labyrinths seem undemanding. In dramatic terms, interplay is simmered down to the essentials, ideal for the plain verisimilitude preferred by realistic film acting. Moments, then, either work well or not, and if not, at least they vanish quickly. The fashion can be attributed to video games and reality shows but it existed well before those, when “I Am a Fugitive form a Chain Gang” (1932) needed only ninety minutes to be told- before the death of movie newsreels turned movies into bladder endurance contests.

The surprise is not that similarities between “21 Grams” and “Love Actually” are noticeable but that the comparison is made at all, for anyone would be hard pressed to recall a time when associations like these were entertained between films from genres so fundamentally dissimilar.

There may be unexpected reasons for a comedy that is not supposed to compete for critical recognition may end up deserving just that. In that sense, “Love Actually” can, of course, look in comparison like an underdog, lacking the sheer charisma of an individual heavyweight like Sean Penn in “21 Grams,” though it is otherwise packed with talent that go from the eminent (Emma Thompson, Liam Neeson, Alan Rickman) and the iconic (Hugh Grant, Colin Firth, Rowan Atkinson) to the reliable. (Laura Linney, Bill Nighy, Matine McCutcheon, Andre Lincoln, Martin Freeman, Joanna Page, Kris Marshall)

What makes a comparative study hard is that humor bewilders with social observation- either aimed at a massive scale or to nitpick at deficiencies in a single relationship. An example of the first are satires like the Boulting brothers’ “I’m All Right Jack,” (1959), to an extent a precursor of “Network,” (1976); the other, more popular group, includes comedies of manners and romantic films ranging from “I Know Where I’m Going” (1945) to “The Truth About Cats and Dogs” (1996), of which Curtis proved to be an accomplished practitioner with “Four Weddings and a Funeral” (1994) and “Notting Hill”(1999). Their power relies entirely in intellectual construction, no matter the type of comedy, to the point that in their form is the most conservative of film genre, the last to absorb advances in technology, and even the only genre who refuses to expand beyond the ninety minutes in length, once suitable for all films.

The essential difference with tragedies is the simple but impressive act of confronting the worst that can happen. This direct simplicity of reveling in the darker, more searing moments can overwhelm an audience; to make poetry even of those moments in the aftermath where the very lingering thoughts can be more painful than tragedy itself, can be awe-inspiring. Faulkner has replayed them magnificently, and so did Homer and Shakespeare before him.

Accordingly, comedy rarely acknowledges tragedy and one needs no more explanation for this than to witness the balancing act of capocomicos who attempted to do just that to be aware of the risk involved- be it Roberto Begnini or Charles Chaplin. For it is in their comment that lies the gift of humor, and the mere representation of a disaster begs restrain, therefore steals a comedian of its precious weapon; a temptation that is hard to recognize or to avoid.

But then, something altogether different happens in “Love Actually,” and unlike most other comedies, including the author’s previous. There is an angry undercurrent that energizes the film with the directness of tragic drama. From the opening voice-over, there is recognition of a sense of gloom in the air so frank that even the date of September 11th is not used euphemistically, as it is regularly done in the U.S. to avoid mention the Twin Towers’ attack. It is still a feel good comedy, but being one that needs to acknowledge what has happened in the world, it balances its natural tendency to endear itself, and in the process, it broadens its impact.

Add to this the quick editing style which makes it hard to construct the intricate coordination usually required for comedy, and the result is that humor has to rely on, perhaps more than usual, in whatever conscious use the characters make of it, just like people would in real life, to shield themselves from harm and loss, or to muster enough courage to go on with their lives, hide embarrassments or even remain defiant. These become richly layered performances, ironically more in accord with the cinema verite that quick editing rhythms are supposed to convey than the more vague existentialism of the Iñarruti epic.

The confrontation between Heads of State, for instance, has been reportedly explained as mere comedy, but there is no need be reminded that Curtis, as a comedy writer, can cleverly maneuver his meaning on different levels. Much like the sight of Sam (young Thomas Sangster) running down Heathrow, chased by the police as if he were a national security threat is yet another symbol. The conflict with a crude world doctrine, the deep suspicion of a bureaucracy who is a greater threat by gleefully manipulating us into a state of hysteria, is all visibly there, and it makes it a better film.

It is useless to ponder if under different circumstances “Love Actually” would have been more like just another feel-good comedy, more in line with Curtis’ previous work, extremely successful and somewhat contentedly inconspicuous. The true surprise is the demonstration of the better uses for comedy, let alone modern editing or such a monumental cast- a revelation so delightful and unexpected that it overtakes with a greater force than any other feel good scenario could possibly have conjured up, and makes it possible to imagine a comparison, usually an odious exercise. True, the similarity in their elaborate editing patterns may steal some of the thunder from “21 Grams,” but if anything, both would hopefully raise the bar for others filmmakers, no matter the genre and, yes, even those who work in Hollywood.