They say mature movies are supposed to challenge audiences, so here’s a test for you: Can you accept the contrivances of Anyone But You as frivolous eccentricities rather than shopworn clichés? If so, then you’re likely to enjoy it. Stripped of its tortured machinery, it functions as a sweet and playful romantic comedy starring two indecently attractive people who—in another universe where box-office success hinges more on actorly charisma than intellectual property—might have the potential to age into movie stars. I did my best to meet it on its terms. But some terms are harder to accept than others.
It takes all of five minutes, before the opening credits even roll, for Anyone But You to announce that it will operate according to the cruel whims of rom-com illogic. The alphabetically adjacent pair of Bea and Ben (played by Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell, respectively) meet cute at a coffee shop, and following some bathroom shenanigans in which Bea struggles with a hand dryer, they spend a magical day and night together before falling asleep in each other’s arms. It’s true love! Yet for reasons known only to the screenwriters (Ilana Wolpert and Will Gluck, the latter of whom also directs), Bea sneaks out the following morning; she instantly realizes her mistake, but upon her return she overhears a wounded Ben assassinating her character to a friend. As a result of this symmetrical misunderstanding, these would-be lovers become less star-crossed than simply and irrevocably cross.
Speaking of Shakespeare, you might recognize the premise here—a comic farce rooted in confusion, ardor, and trickery—as resembling that of Much Ado About Nothing. (Throughout the film, textual quotations of the Bard sneak their way onto the screen.) That comparison solidifies once Bea and Ben coincidentally end up at the same destination wedding in Australia (her sister is marrying the sister of his best bud), at which point the rest of the party—fearful that Bea and Ben’s mutual antipathy will ruin the nuptials—resolve to hoodwink them into believing they’re perfect for one another. Which—and I really don’t think I need to add a spoiler warning here—they are.
Look, far be it from me to impugn the writings of William fucking Shakespeare, whose comedies were both predictable and delightful. (Joss Whedon made a more direct adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing 10 years ago; it’s a winner.) But their excellence stems as much from the caliber of their verse as the elegance of their plotting, and a movie from the writers behind High School Musical and Peter Rabbit ain’t exactly making Marlowe jealous. The obligatory beats of Anyone But You—the supportive besties, the foil-worthy exes, the unfulfilling careers, the climactic mad dash—feel dispiritingly suffused with formula. Contemporary cinema is starving for original romantic comedies geared toward adults, but can we not just, like, make movies where sexy people fall in love and also tell funny jokes? Must everything scrupulously adhere to the rom-com playbook?
So as I said, Anyone But You’s engineered quality can feel frustrating. But again, if you can just make peace with it—if you can remind yourself that plot machinations have long been endemic to the genre, and that a film’s artificial trajectory doesn’t deprive it of its artistic pleasures—then you will discover that the movie is moderately charming. Not everything works; too much putative humor revolves around Ben simply squinting at Aussie dialect, while a bit of physical mayhem on an airplane builds toward epic embarrassment only to shrink away. But there are a number of comic set pieces—a scene where Bea and Ben attempt to fabricate their attraction only to be thwarted by a koala; a sequence on a yacht that features the memorable line, “Titanic me”—that are both funny and imaginative.
Besides, the real function of Anyone But You is to serve as a star vehicle for its leads, who prove naturally appealing in multiple ways. It can’t be exaggerated just how beautiful these two people are; Powell’s jawline is as firm as his abdomen—as someone else puts it, he’s basically made out of cobblestone—while Sweeney’s curves demand their own road signs. (Gluck sensibly obliges by devising to show both of them in varying states of undress.) But they also evince a chemistry that’s both easygoing and sparky. To the extent the movie deviates from its inspiration, it involves Bea and Ben recognizing the scheming of their fellows, then deciding to lean into the subterfuge for their own (somewhat unconvincing) ends; this allows the actors to toy with traditional notions of attraction, which is why a late scene—a beautiful moment when the pair are airlifted from the Sydney harbor, clinging to each other’s bodies—is genuinely moving.
That the rest of Anyone But You never approximates this level of tenderness isn’t really an indictment; the movie is meant to be a lark, not a paean. And if this kind of derivative, pleasurable entertainment is what it takes for rom-coms to grow back in style, then it’s a noble-if-slight enterprise. Who knows? Maybe if studios start pretending to make great romantic comedies again, eventually they’ll stumble into the real thing.
Grade: B-
Jeremy Beck is the editor-in-chief of MovieManifesto. He watches more movies and television than he probably should.