Review of terrible Netflix princess movie The Royal Treatment

 

I love a Hallmark Christmas movie and the spinoff Netflix romances as much as anyone.  And I fully understand that part of their charm is that they are terrible.  

But sometimes one of these movies comes along that is terrible because it is charmless.  Take, for example, Netflix movie The Royal Treatment.   It stars Laura Marano, best known for her role in the perfectly okay  Disney show Austin & Ally, and Mena Massoud, who I have never heard of but also has a Disney background and is very cute. 

The biggest problem with the movie is not the standard plot -- commoner with a heart of gold falls in love with doltish but very hot prince, and the prince's butler/tutor/mentor turns out to be awesome -- but Marano's very, very distracting accent.  Her character, Izzy, is Italian-American and lives somewhere in New York City.  The Bronx, maybe?  I guess her accent is supposed to reflect that, but it's a weird mishmash of fake Boston accent, fake New York accent, and fake do-gooder princess accent.  There was not a single time that Marano spoke that I I was not pulled out of the movie by the way she was saying her words.  

Other than Marano's accent, the movie was just standardly offensive.  Happy dancing poor people!  Schools for low-income kids saved by hand-me-downs from rich people!  A hair salon that constantly catches on fire due to dangerous wiring but the health department doesn't care and the landlord doesn't have to do anything about it!  A person with no qualifications or experience offered a job leading a human services agency, because she is nice!  A European chef who is too incompetent to know how to cook spaghetti!  

I understand that the point of movies like this is not to be good.  But they could be.  What if Izzy, a business-owner responsible for the livelihood of several employees, actually understood the first thing about running a business?  What if one or two the people in the slum in the prince's kingdom of Lavania had an actual character trait?  I'm not talking about hard edges and -- heaven forfend -- lefty politics.  I'm just talking about a plot that is . . . a little more plot-like. 

Review of K-Drama Because This Is My First Life

 

After I watched Squid Game with the rest of the world, Netflix added K-Dramas (South Korean dramas) to my feed.  I was not familiar with the genre and gave Because This Is My First Life a try. The show was a very sweet romcom with insanely good looking actors and  . . . very . . . slow . . . pacing.

The main characters are heroine Yoon Ji-ho, an unemployed TV writer having a crisis of identity, and hero Nam Se-hee, a computer programmer who seems to be mildly autistic but may just be a bit Vulcan-like in his refusal to deal with emotions.  In a meet-cute, Yoon Ji-ho (I'm using complete names in this review because I'm not sure of the appropriate way to refer to them) moves into the spare room in Nam Se-hee's condo without either of them realizing that they are opposite genders.  Yoon Ji-ho would be homeless without the room.  Nam Se-hee desperately wants a good roommate who will help him take care of his cat and make his mortgage payments.  Bowing to family pressures, they enter into a marriage of convenience.  

Naturally. misunderstandings and love follow, but there is more to the story.  Yoon Ji-ho thinks through what she really wants from  a partner and from  life, and decides that she is not willing to settle for less.  Nam Se-hee works through an old trauma involving his parents and a prior love.  Their character development is sweet and well-done. 

There are two other couples the show also follows, all friends of the two main characters.  The standout is Woo Su-ji, a friend of Yoon Ji-ho who absolutely dominates the screen every time she appears on it.  She has a crappy corporate job where she puts up with daily sexual harassment in the hope of professional advancement.  Her love interest, Ma Sang-goo, who is Nam Se-hee's friend and boss, is incredibly supportive and helps her come to believe that she both deserves and can have a better career and a better life.  

As much as I liked the characters, actors, and intertwining plots of Because This Is My First Life, I would have liked the show a lot better if each episode was half the time.  It seemed like each shot was done twice, each piece of dialogue repeated.  I grew so bored with the pacing that it was a struggle to finish watching. 

Review of Regency romance How to Survive a Scandal by Samara Parish, a promising first novel

 

The trend in Regency romance novels is for the heroines to be outsiders to the ton, the clique of titled, usually very rich families who spend their time going to balls and trying to marry off their debutante daughters to equally rich, titled men. Some of those outsider heroines are untitled women with actual jobs (or at least are apparently untitled); others have the requisite pedigree but are socially awkward or are more interested in creating dictionaries or editing feminist magazines than getting married.

How to Survive a Scandal by Samara Parish refreshingly goes in an entirely different direction.  Its heroine Amelia is at the top of the ton's heap, a diamond of the first cut (as they say).  At the beginning of the book, she is one of the mean girls that wallflowers in other books hide from.  She can overpower anyone with a raised eyebrow.  She can destroy an aspiring debutante with a cutting remark.  When she tries a new dress style, everyone copies her.  Most importantly, she has every expectation of marrying a duke she does not know well, and she is absolutely fine with that.

When, due to circumstances that are never really explained, she is rescued from freezing to death by  apparently untitled factory owner Benedict Asterly and found in an accidentally compromising position with him, she is forced to marry him, move to his country house, and adapt to his non-titled ways.  

I was rooting for Amelia to absolutely lean in.  It really seemed that she was going to take the talents she had developed her entire life -- the ability to run a huge household, to bend people to her will, and, in short, to be an absolute boss -- and apply them to her new life.  And she does, kind of.  She updates Ben's house, opening closed rooms and hiring and training better servants.  She brings her organizational abilities to Ben's factory and vastly improves it.  

But the book never quite lets Amelia be as amazing as she could be. The second half of the book focuses on Ben, the much less interesting character, and his whining about, oops, he's titled and super rich after all.  

The book also has very murky politics.  The French Revolution and the reign of terror serve as a backdrop to the action.  The English nobility is sorta kinda evil because there's one old titled guy who sexually harasses maids and is going to take away farmland from tenants.  Ben is -- sorta kinda -- presented as the better alternative, with his factories that will provide jobs to people.  Yet there are random scenes that show his employees almost dying because the factory's working conditions are so dangerous.  And what is the profit that Ben will make compared to how much he will pay his workers?  

How to Survive a Scandal also has less complicated plot points that are never resolved.  What's really going on with the sexual harasser lord next door?  Is he behind the sabotage on Ben's factory or is his role just coincidence?  Why is Amelia's former fiancee such a jerk to her?  (It's obvious that the sequel will be about him and his love interest, but does that excuse him from never having a frank conversation with Amelia?)

This book is Samara Parish's first novel.  She has definite promise.  Just like I hope for Amelia, I hope that Parish leans into her strengths. 

Review of generic Regency romance Love is a Rogue by Lenora Bell, and meanderings about a book whose title I can't remember

 

When I read the back cover of Regency romance Love is a Rogue by Lenora Bell I thought it said that heroine Beatrice Bentley's passion was entomology, when it actually said etymology.  So for much of the first chapters I was waiting for Beatrice to run out to the gardens and dig up insects.  (The book does include a dress decorated with real butterflies, so I wasn't entirely disappointed.)   

In the end it didn't really make a difference.  Whether Beatrice loves bugs or words, she is a typical "quirky" Regency heroine who has a -- gasp -- interest outside of going to balls.  Also she suffers from a slight birth defect that makes her face droopy. 

Need I say more?  Along comes a man who is not appropriate to Beatrice's station but is hot and kind and likes that she likes big words and thinks that she is beautiful.    

The man is Ford Wright, a carpenter.  They bond over tearing out floorboards.

I guess this is kind of a spoiler (although it doesn't give away anything about the book's plot, except the predetermined happy ending), so be warned:

These are the last three paragraphs of the book:

 She loved him.  More than she'd ever thought it possible to love.

 Their love was strong and solid and true.

Built to weather storms.  Built to stand the test of time.  

At first reading I rolled my eyes at this generic language.  Is there any romance novel, Regency or otherwise, that could not end with these words?

On second reading I saw the metaphor: their love is like the houses that Ford builds, strong, solid, true, etc.  

But that metaphor not earned.  While some of the plot of the book involves carpentry, that's all it is -- plot.  And where is Beatrice's love of the study of words and their origins in this ending?  A few paragraphs earlier she calls Ford, "Malapert rapscallion.  Scurrilous scoundrel."  But that's conversation, not metaphor.  

Years ago I read a modern romance whose title I can't remember.  Sandcastles, maybe, or Castles in the Sand.  I'm not finding it on Amazon.  The central metaphor was that the heroine liked to build sandcastles and then watch the waves wash them away.  She bumps into an old boyfriend (I think) and makes up a story about her life, figuring they'll have a fling and never see each other again.  Of course the romance lasts, and the truth comes out.  The hero forgives her when he watches the waves wash away a sandcastle, and he understands that the sandcastles are supposed to be fun and are not built to last, but the beach itself is there forever.  The fling, the lies, were the sandcastle, but their love is the beach.  The fact that I remember that metaphor years later -- that's one that is built to last. 

Love is a Rogue has not earned its metaphor, leaving it a generic, fairly dull book. 

Review of West End Earl by Bethany Bennett, the gender-bending Regency romance that isn't

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW

These are the characters in Regency romance West End Earl by Bethany Bennett: 

Ophelia, a woman who lives as a man. 

Calvin, who knows Ophelia cross-dresses, and is in love with her.  

Emma, Calvin's sister, who marries Ophelia knowing that she is a woman.  

A random male servant who has a hidden talent for doing women's hair.

So far this sounds like a pretty great romp, right?  Maybe along the lines of the gender-fluid Regency romance, the The Perks of Loving a Wallflower, but a bit more light-hearted with a farcical Shakespearian wit?  

Alas, no.  This book bends so far backwards to make the reader understand that all of its main characters are one hundred percent not gay, not transgender, not in any way queer, no siree bob, that it's in danger of getting sciatica. 

Ophelia, the cross-dressing heroine, is a cisgendered and entirely heterosexual woman.  She does not yearn to be a man in any way.  At her most extreme, she prefers men's shoe because they are more practical for sustained walking.  Other than that, her deepest desire is to go back to wearing women's clothing.  She lusts only after men.  Her cross-dressing is strictly a matter of necessity.

Calvin, the hero in love with cross-dressing Ophelia, is a  cisgendered and entirely heterosexual man.  He never felt any attraction to Ophelia when he believed her to be a man.   When he learned that she was a woman, he desired her because he now noticed her womanly features.  There was no frisson added by Ophelia presenting as male.

Emma, Calvin's sister, who marries Ophelia knowing she is a cross-dressing woman, is a cisgendered and entirely heterosexual woman.   She is in no way attracted to Ophelia and Ophelia is in no way attracted to her.  They're friends, that's it.  The marriage is simply for convenience. 

As for the servant:  Okay, he's an open question.  When he learns that Ophelia is a cross-dressing woman he doesn't bat an eyelash. The origin of his uncanny skill as a woman's hairdresser -- a skill one would not think a butler would ordinarily develop -- is never explained.  What's his (her? their?) story?  We never find out.

On a very positive note, despite all foreshadowing to the contrary throughout this book, the climax does not involve a kidnapping.