Anyone who’s ever negotiated their way through a joint content queue understands, deep, deep in their marrow:
Nothing beats a show that both halves of a relationship want to watch.
I’m down for anything and everything, though I gravitate towards the fringes. My wife isn’t particularly interested in exploring the Jean-Luc Godard catalog and/or Basket Case 2.
And I know better than to even suggest those in the first place!
In fact, I’d love to opt out of the “suggest” part entirely. There’s more than enough bargaining and minor indignities over the course of our respective workdays. Why invite them to the couch?
This is why films and series (let’s be real, mostly the latter) of mutual interest are priceless. We typically sync up on high camp, stand-up (no bros), true crime / cult docs, old sitcoms, whatever John Cena is up to, and the dragon-less portions of HBO’s prestige offerings.
The new Mr. & Mrs. Smith detonates somewhere within this blast radius.
It’s fun!
If you don’t know anything about anything, the original 2005 movie and this Amazon Prime reboot are capers about married assassins forced to keep up appearances while navigating an increasingly literal understanding of till death do us part.
“Hijinks ensue.”
The show hooked me with an Episode One escapade in and around 88 Palace, the East Broadway dim sum restaurant where my friends and I used to throw raves.
Even without any Chinatown mall connection, it’s a mission-of-the-week watch that goes down easy. Classy cinematography, great fits.
All in the service of spousal teamwork!
I’ve enjoyed reading about the creative braintrust’s process of destroying and rebuilding spy tropes (gadgets, truth serums, snowmobiles) while sprinkling in pulls from their own romantic partnerships (farting in bed).
They land on a very specific tone, zigging where other shows would zag. It’s not self-serving quirkiness; Donald Glover’s just good at this!
Still wish we got his Deadpool cartoon.
Maya Erskine is low-key revelatory, mostly because I’ve only ever seen her with bowl cut and braces. She underplays the role with Daria energy and some consistently surprising choices. Put her in everything.
The show fills their relationship with lived in textures and actual married people shit: “aspirational millenial” lifestyle porn and Open Door-level real estate droolery.
Shout out Chekov’s compost tumbler.
More cohabitational collaboration plays out further down the Prime home screen: the metafictional J-Lo musical This Is Me… Now, and its accompanying documentary, The Greatest Love Story Never Told, both of which burst alive whenever a certain DunKing hits the screen.
Not going to TLDR Bennifer’s Wikipedia entry, or make any sort of critical value judgement on the film(s) that haters will bring up when I host SNL.
As pop culture artifacts, they’re impressively singular — and more than occasionally, bonkers.
This Is Me… gets (self) described as Jen’s Purple Rain, but it’s more her Under The Cherry Moon — again, not a dig.
If you lived thru Y2K or ever watched a Dave Meyers Making The Video, you’ll inhale it like Kirby before I even mention that Fat Joe plays a therapist who owns many fine cardigans. It does the most, and the doc somehow does even more.
All throughout, the newlyweds’ work / life solidarity is palpable.
Performative?
I don’t know any celeb content that isn’t, but some things you can’t script.
My wife laughed way too hard at the following exchange.
That’s real love.