But on my latest dive into familiar (and supposedly romantic) films of the past three decades, I can hardly see their leading men for all the red flags flapping around them. Watching these films has suddenly become less escapist -- and more reflective of our current reality.

Pick a decade -- 1980s, 1990s or early 2000s -- and it seems that one of its defining leading men is a manipulator, someone who gaslights.

"Gaslighting" has become a household term over the past few years, thanks to the current political administration in Washington. But it has its origins in entertainment, having entered the popular lexicon as the title of a 1944 Ingrid Bergman movie, based on a play, in which a young wife is slowly driven toward insanity as her husband toys with her mind.

In broad terms, as CNN contributor Frida Ghitis put it in her analysis of President Donald Trump's own manipulative behavior, gaslighting is "tactical tampering with the truth."

It is repeatedly questioning a person's sanity, and what they believe to be true, with the intention of rendering them compliant. It's a hallmark of domestic abuse.

And the more classic romances I watch, the more convinced I become that we've all been gaslit by screenplays that are pushing the idea of obsession and conflict as necessary hallmarks of worthwhile relationships. That the very definition of romance lies in its ability to make a woman truly miserable before rewarding her with a happy ending.

To my dismay, three of my most-loved recent re-watches, "Pretty in Pink," "Reality Bites" and "The Notebook," are grade-A examples. These romantic male leads hoodwink heroines into thinking they're Mr. Right, despite failing to demonstrate any understanding of good relationship dynamics, and aggressively making their love interests feel like crap on multiple occasions.

Outside the rosy light of nostalgia, I have to be honest. This is not love. This is not cute. This is manipulation. (Even if it's dressed up as peak Ryan Gosling.) And rom-coms have been grooming cinephiles to think otherwise for far too long.

The first offender, 1986's "Pretty in Pink," is the John Hughes-written story of Andie (Molly Ringwald), a working-class teen who falls for a rich kid named Blane (Andrew McCarthy). Upon picking her up for their first date, he rudely asks her if she wants to go home and change ("I already did," she mumbles, in the first of many times he'll chip away at her self-esteem). Then comes this exchange:

Blane: You up for a party? Yeah? No? Maybe

Andie: No, I don't think so.

Blane: They're my friends. It's OK....I wouldn't go if I didn't think they'd accept you.

Andie: Can't we go somewhere else?

Blane: Andie, I like you. I think you like me. We know a lot of bullsh-t goes on, but if you're above it, I am. If we want to make anything out of this, we gotta deal with it, right?

Andie: Yeah.

Blane: Come on, I got as much to lose as you. We can go out with your friends if you want: We could go crawl un

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