'F Marry Kill' never really plays
A classic bar conversation and a movie destined to be remembered by no one, “F Marry Kill” takes most of the fun out of extreme categorization, which actually might have worked great as a rom-com. Because the concept — obv: dividing a group of three people (though, I guess, it doesn’t have to be people) into who you want to marry, murder, etc. — allows for a lot of fluidity and unpredictability for a character learning more about the trio and making live updates.
In practice, though, as Eva casually dates Mitch (Brendan Morgan), who’s great in bed and, it turns out, a person with feelings; Norman (Samer Salem), who installs security systems and could be super nice or super creepy; and Kyle (Jedidiah Goodacre), who is initially annoying and then more annoying, the changes in perception are corny and simplistic, and at no point are we actually rooting for anyone to get together. Plus, because 96% of movies now need to be about an assassin or serial killer, the writers made this a whodunit, barely asking not just who’s right for Eva but which one them is the “Swipe Right Killer,” without the willingness to really feel that either.
There absolutely is a way to mix the stakes of love and death, but the tone didn’t work in “Heart Eyes” and it doesn’t here either. The odd combo of cutesiness and menace makes the jokes unfunny and the threats unserious, with director Laura Murphy struggling to intertwine Eva’s relationships, friends and family in a way that doesn’t feel episodic and awkwardly divided. At times “F Marry Kill” is so far-fetched it recalls “They Came Together,” a parody of ridiculous on-screen romance, or the structure of “Mamma Mia!” with even less emotional curiosity and definitely no exclamation point.
Pop the movie on late enough, after your brain can store information about various characters and instead almost willfully allows itself to remain in the dark about a poorly conceived mystery, and you could convince yourself you’re having a good time, or at least that you’re awake. Hale, after all, has starred in several of these sex-positive, quality-negative efforts, and her likability tends to rise above material that flounders. (She also really should release a follow-up to her great and only album.) But the cheeky concept is a very awkward mix with true crime podcasting (watch this instead), like you’re at the bar playing pool and someone suggests using the cues for jousting.
Never mind; that’s a way better idea. “F Marry Kill” is buffalo sauce on ice cream, without the courage to be that delicious separately or queasy together.
C-
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