'Players' left its charm in 2009
Netflix
There are so many reasons to be discouraged by “Players” that it’s hard to know what to feel most bummed about:
That much of the plot is just a watered-down version of the nearly 15-year-old “How I Met Your Mother” episode “The Playbook.”
That Damon Wayans Jr. is given so little to do in such a disposable ensemble.
That the will they/won’t they element here is basically just “They will” from the beginning.
That journalism on screen has maybe NEVER BEEN LESS CONVINCING. “Is that your feature?” “Can I read your feature?” “I have to go work on my feature.” “I’d stay out, but I have a deadline.” Or the idea that employees at a failing publication with impending layoffs can save their jobs by writing one great story?! NO.
The soggy script by first-time feature writer Whit Anderson (“Ozark,” “Daredevil”) should come with a laugh track where the laughs are replaced by groans. Or maybe you’ll think this is great, let’s see: For more than a decade Mack (Gina Rodriguez), Adam (Wayans Jr.), and Brannagan (Augustus Pew), with more recent help from Brannagan’s little brother Little (Joel Courtney), have been running Barney Stinson-esque plays at bars to serve as perpetual wingmen and wingwomen and turn the concept of power in numbers into its own self-perpetuating hookup machine. They even take turns! This might be cute if not for the remarkable aforementioned staleness of this concept on top of the grossness of the lies, which isn’t alleviated by Mack claiming that people know they’re lying but also respect the effort involved and enjoy the fantasy. Sure.
The thin excuse for a plot here involves Mack pursuing (with her pals’ help) Pulitzer Prize finalist and internationally known author Nick (Tom Ellis of “Lucifer”) because he’s handsome and successful and of course British. If you think the relationship stuff here is handled without an ounce of originality and only a touch more cleverness, get ready for the career stuff, which is worth reiterating just how shockingly inauthentic every moment feels. Yes, this will be especially off-putting to journalists, and if you aren’t one you might not care at all.
But no matter who you are it’s hard to imagine caring much about what happens to these characters. Rodriguez absolutely deserves leading roles like this and is perfectly charming and the rom-com business at hand here is so underwhelming by design, snoozing its way toward both impossibility and inevitability. Nobody signs up for surprise or expert insight for this kind of softball. But a supposed sports expert like Mack should know that a game in which the players aren’t good and aren’t really trying doesn’t exactly scream must-watch.
D+
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