‘The Merry Gentlemen’ Review: Britt Robertson Stuffs Her Stocking With Man Candy in Netflix’s Rote Rom-Com
To describe “The Merry Gentlemen” as “The Full Monty” meets a Christmas-themed Hallmark movie might be overselling the goods. However, that’s essentially the elevator pitch for this feature, in which a big-city dancer returns to her small town to save her parents’ concert venue by having hunks go shirtless on stage. Yet director Peter Sullivan and writer/co-star Marla Sokoloff’s offering in the Netflix Holiday Cinematic Universe is uninventive, uninspired and presented with noticeably sloppy wrapping. Not only does the story flail trying to find its footing after a well-presented first act, some of the more cost-conscious aspects detract from the picture’s meaningful, understated sentiments.
Ashley’s arrival is met with a warm welcome all across town, from the greasy spoon diner her older sister Marie (Sokoloff) owns to live-music-bar The Rhythm Room, where she clumsily pratfalls into cute carpenter Luke’s (Chad Michael Murray) life. The hole-in-the-wall, owned by Ashley’s big-hearted parents Stan (Michael Gross) and Lily (Beth Broderick), was once host to rock-and-rollers and royalty (a smart nod to “The Princess Switch”). However, it’s now home to barfly Danny (Maxwell Caulfield) and a stack of comically-large-stamped past-due bills. Facing eviction and $30,000 in debt, Ashley launches an all-male revue to rescue the establishment, roping in the only local men she knows: Marie’s husband Rodger (Marc Anthony Samuel), bartender Troy (Colt Prattes) and Luke, who can’t resist those in need, especially Ashley.
To the narrative’s detriment, the film doesn’t stray far from the safe confines of outdated formulas, wherein a city dweller finds love in a small town and workaholics are chided for choosing a career over love. These filmmakers need to step up their game if they want to hang alongside smarter-constructed shared universe titles like “A Castle For Christmas” and, most recently, “Hot Frosty.” Confounding elements proliferate the picture, mostly dealing with character behaviors and situations that either strain credulity (like the Santa photo-op still running past the bar’s closing time) or lead to more questions than answers. Why would Marie hide her dating past with a male stripper from Rodger, when he’s more than willing to doff his top in front of a gaggle of screaming women?
Social media exists in this world, as TikTok is mentioned in an early scene, but nobody uses it at all to help fill the club with patrons. Surely Ashley’s dancing career would’ve guaranteed she had an account and a healthy fan following. Instead, she and Marie pass out flyers in the town square and wait for journalists to pick up their story. That’s fine for a movie taking place before smartphones were invented, but not for one set in this tech-heavy era. Plus, it’s odd that the film takes great pains to be extremely heteronormative, showing no male patrons attending these events (with the exception of the one guy working the A/V board). It pays no mind to the potential LGBTQ+ audience watching, when it could’ve seized an opportunity to be as progressive and inclusive as others in the growing Netflix Holiday Cinematic Universe (“Single All the Way” and “Falling For Christmas”).
Each of the routines is given an aesthetic identity, with Sullivan conducting a chorus of complex choreography, saturated stage lighting, music-video-style editing and costumes ranging from a construction worker to a Chippendale dancer. The novices show off their six packs as they body roll to an aggressively generic soundtrack (interestingly all licensed from the production company’s own stable of music artists). Still, these numbers feel like reductive, forgettable iterations of those in “Magic Mike.” They might make elderly audiences blush, but only if relatives are around.
There are highlights. Sullivan and Sokoloff pay respectful homage to their cinematic inspiration in the first montage, showing the guys’ infectious love of dance crossing over to their daily lives — cooking at the grill, storing a toolbox and making cocktails. Strong anti-corporate messaging is tucked away in the margins, from Marie’s motivation for buying the diner to the fight to keep the venue from a juice bar takeover. Lens flares center viewers in the characters’ psyches, whether it be when our heroine experiences an epiphany or when the narrative’s emotional drive ramps up.
The members of the ensemble elevate the flawed material as best they can. Robertson makes for a great leading lady, delivering a slapstick-y tumble as efficiently as she accesses vulnerability to make her protagonist’s arc empathetic. Murray is, of course, charming, adding sizzle and verve to the proceedings. When it comes to tertiary supporting players, Caulfield is a blessed casting choice, with his presence reinforcing the theme of reinvention. After all, he played a bookish nerd-turned-biker in “Grease 2” and seductive pop star Rex Manning in “Empire Records.” Here, he steals the spotlight.
Sentiments surrounding women unearthing hidden reserves of resilience, persevering and thriving in their second-life career choices are assuredly heartening — perhaps something Sokoloff herself experienced blending acting with her work behind the camera, writing and directing other films. Nevertheless, the predictable climactic conflict undoes the groundwork previously laid with these feminist notions, placing a finer point on romance instead of self-worth. Had the filmmakers evolved from the expected to the unexpected, this holiday romp would’ve been more merry and bright.
View this article at Variety.
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