'Holidate' review: When 'plus one' adds up to a D-minus

Streaming on Netflix, the romantic comedy “Holidate” is too cool for words. Screenwriter Tiffany Paulsen’s self-referential winks include Emma Roberts explaining to her costar Luke Bracey why she hates romantic comedies. “There’s always some fake reason the stars can’t be together!” she says, rolling her eyes because Roberts, though talented and sometimes funny, apparently got paid by the eyeroll.

It’s set in Chicago, as you may have read, but filmed in Atlanta, as many Chicago-set movies tend to be (filmmaking’s cheaper there). With a better movie I’m, like, whatever on the Chicago authenticity front, even if nothing says “local” like a residential street lined with what appear to be peach trees. Then again, Chicagoans have their limits. When “Holidate” flashed a locator map for the heroine’s aggravating family gathering marked LOGAN SQUARE, I burst into tears and nearly dropped my bowl of artisanal venison stew Grubhubbed from Longman & Eagle.

Wisecracking romantic loser Sloane, the Roberts character, meets hunky Aussie golf pro Jackson, played by Bracey, in line at a clothing store return counter. (They’re unloading unwanted holiday jammy and khaki pants, respectively.) Director John Whitesell’s movie spends a lot of time at the mall. Remember “Dawn of the Dead”? This movie has more mall than that one.

Jackson has grown weary of the sexual pressure and overeager women the holidays throw his way, while Sloane has had quite enough of her mother (Frances Fisher), her older sister (Jessica Capshaw) and her carnally motivated aunt (Kristin Chenoweth) each bugging her to marry someone, anyone. A pact is made: She and Jackson, compatible cynics, agree to be each other’s yearlong holidate, no strings, no connections, no sex, lots of drinking.

The script bumps along from New Year’s Eve to Thanksgiving. It’s like the old Astaire/Crosby musical “Holiday Inn,” except bad. Sloane and Jackson, whose names suggest a law firm waiting to happen, make it to the 50-minute mark before acknowledging their feelings for each other. En route, Sloane keeps running into her French ex (on loan, apparently, from “Emily in Paris,” if “Emily in Paris” were shot in Atlanta). “It’s all downhill after 40!” she cries. Breaking their no-intercourse rule, our merry narcissists’ arrangement turns messy and confusing. Nearly every scene, whether the characters (lead and supporting) are supposed to like each other or not, settles for hostility masquerading as banter.

There was a time, earlier in the century, when romantic comedies starring Gerard Butler or Matthew McConaughey sent smug Lotharios through the de-jerkifying machine also known as “the plot,” while being tamed (vice versa) by the brittle, Type A narcissists played by Katherine Heigl or thereabouts. Sometimes the female leads followed a related template: frazzled, sardonic, hard-hearted, with screwy or nonexistent love lives. Then along comes Mr. Wrong-Right to save her from a lifetime of unhappiness.

It is possible to make a romantic comedy that doesn’t feel like an experiment in machine learning. Netflix did it last year with “Always Be My Maybe,” and you can go back further to the better Nora Ephron hits (“When Harry Met Sally”) and further back into genuine greatness (“The Awful Truth,” “The Shop Around the Corner.”) No one’s going to stream “Holidate” because it’s a classic. The stars generate some charm here and there, but the face Emma Roberts is pulling on the poster is the only review you need. Except this one, of course.

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‘HOLIDATE’

One and a half stars (out of four)

Rating: TV-MA (language, smoking)

Running time: 1:43

Streaming now on Netflix

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