ENTERTAINMENT
It’s a confident, even cocky network that commissions a show called Nobody Wants This. A half-hour romantic comedy series about a rabbi and an agnostic gentile falling in love, it began on Netflix (of course) last Thursday, with all ten episodes available to view.
If summer brings blockbusters and winter Christmas movies, spring tends towards prestige arthouse films fresh off awards season. But autumn? Autumn is the romantic comedy’s time to shine. The faint chill in the air that unsettles pretty orange and yellow fallen leaves from underfoot, brings to mind cosy afternoon matinees of old favourites like When Harry Met Sally, the definitive autumn romance.
Which means that, while Nobody Wants This isn’t really that great, it comes at a good time of year to guarantee an audience. Loosely based on the real-life experiences of its creator Erin Foster, main character Joanne (Kristen Bell) is clearly her wish fulfilled; a quick-witted podcast host whose many unpleasant quirks are here presented as refreshing and attractive.
Joanne meets Noah (Adam Brody), the young-ish, liberal rabbi who has just come out of a long-term relationship, at a party thrown by a mutual friend. They hit it off with flirty banter straight away, and the first episode ends with Joanne turning up at Noah’s synagogue to support him as he performs his first sermon.
The chemistry is good, and the leads are reliable, but the dialogue grates. It is too fine-tuned, with each sparky or snarky interaction feeling too flawless, like how you’d imagine a conversation going in a re-run in your own mind after a less-than-perfect encounter.
It is a little too polished, a little too confident in its edginess. It has that American streaming show habit of trying to prove its progressive and modern leanings by being liberal with swearing, sex references and smoking, that conversely make it seem immature, even unsophisticated.
But even after all that, I see myself finishing the series, glutton for unserious romances that I am. The Los Angeles setting is glossy and sanitised, the costuming unadventurous and flattering, the whole thing is viewed as if through a filter. The conflict that arises is dealt with by pure charm, the antagonist merely a mother who wants the best for her son.
This is pure escapism, a scenario as if played out in a dream, but before it fades from memory forever it should briefly satisfy the cravings of those who just want to collapse upon the sofa to watch something that will tick the bland romance box while raising the odd laugh.
Beirt 