Here Is My Theory About One Night Only

I have a theory about One Night Only, the high-concept, low-reward romantic comedy that’s been gobsmacking people with its premise for weeks now on its way to a theatrical release. My theory is that there is a version of this movie, which takes places in an America that recently outlawed nonmarital sex for all but a 12-hour stretch once a year, that could have been good if it actually committed to the dystopian nature of its setup and went full Starship Troopers on the rom-com genre. This is not just some thought experiment I embarked on to keep myself entertained while watching Monica Barbaro and Callum Turner slog through endless, unfunny interludes over one fateful night — or at least, it’s mostly not that. Because there are indications that One Night Only might have had something more darkly satirical on its mind at one point.

It’s conspicuously littered with brands, for instance, from the pharma companies that Allie (Barbaro) sings jingles for to the costumed KY reps handing out free samples to the get-it-on-themed ads every company is running (“You’ve been training for this one night,” declares an Equinox sign), in a way that feels like it almost adds up to something. Maybe a comment on how the rom-com itself has traditionally served as a kind of commercial for hetero monogamy? The movie’s depiction of how even a haven of coastal elitism like New York City yields to Christo-fascist surveillance-state tactics also comes close to making some kind of point, with half-hearted “REPEAL” signs in apartment windows, attendees chanting “FUCK THE MANDATE” at exclusive parties, and characters who wonder in secret if they actually enjoy compulsory purity culture. But One Night Only, which was scripted by Travis Braun (a staff writer on various animated kid shows) and directed by Will Gluck (who continues to exhaust the goodwill accrued by Easy A and Friends With Benefits), doesn’t want to say something about anything.

One Night Only just wants to be a movie about two hot people finding love in the city, against what happens to be a backdrop of mandatory chastity that’s maintained by law enforcement and enabled by sensors placed on the wrist of everyone 18 and older by a tech company. If people really can get used to anything, I suppose they could get used to a wild breach of personal autonomy and liberty that, according to the introduction, began abruptly just three years ago thanks to an unspecified congressional act. By that standard, audiences should also be able to accept that all this stuff is just supposed to provide a backdrop for Allie, who’s single and hoping for a connection, to get together with Owen (Turner), who’s looking to hook up out of spite after his girlfriend (Maya Hawke) announces her plans to have sex with someone new. And yet, watching the movie feels akin to watching that viral video of a fitness influencer doing a dance routine in front of an unfolding military coup in Myanmar — you want to yell, “Does anyone onscreen see what’s happening here?”

I don’t think it’s possible to separate the rom or the com of One Night Only from its context, but the movie is not very good at either. Some of this I put on Turner, who, like his fellow countrywoman Daisy Edgar-Jones, is starting to accrue the aura of an industry plant whose stardom is being forced on us, whether we like it or not. Turner is handsome enough and looks unsettlingly like the offspring of Mike Faist and Josh O’Connor (can he play tennis?), but he’s no romantic lead, incapable of handling flirty banter and exuding smarm instead of charm. (He’s also saddled with lines like “Your legs make no sense.”) Owen owns a pizza place and is supposed to be a solid guy who’s a little set in his ways, but Turner has the aura of a reformed bully. Barbaro fares better as Allie, but her character — who is determined to be true to herself and to find romance on the one night of the year everyone’s just out to fuck — has to weather some seriously hackneyed developments, including the reveal that she’s a professional singer who’s afraid of singing in front of audiences.

Rom-coms require a certain amount of contrivance. You have two people who clearly belong together, but who have to be kept apart, whether by misunderstandings or mishaps, social forces or personality traits, until the happy ending. One Night Only is literally all contrivance, as attested to by the countdown clocks posted everywhere to alert everyone as to when the Sex Purge will be over. And yet it labors to come up with reasons for Allie and Owen to not run off somewhere to fuck. They meet cute, and then Owen pukes because he ate too much omakase. They run into each other again while scrambling to secure the last remaining condom in the area (using barrier devices is also legally mandated, though it’s unclear how the cops are supposed to enforce this), which yields a series of laugh-free high jinks that just feel intended to fill time. They meet potential other lovers but are prevented from engaging in any non-romantic lovemaking by scams, police raids, injuries, maternal interventions, and, yes, an improbable scarcity of protection on the one night of the year where there’s near-infinite need for it.

At a certain point in the runtime, it becomes clear that the movie is actually pretty prudish about sex — not just because of the skeptical gaze it casts at people engaging in PDAs (and more) on the subway, in doorways, and through uncurtained windows, but because it regards sex as an impediment to really getting to know someone. If One Night Only were in the hands of a Paul Verhoeven, it could be subversive, its glossy surfaces serving as a scathing indictment of its conclusion that maybe true love really does wait. Instead, it’s in the hands of filmmakers who have no idea what they’re going for, and gives us a character who’s not joking when he wonders aloud if the fascists got something right after all.

Sign up for The Critics

A weekly dispatch on the cultural discourse, for subscribers only.

Become a Subscriber

Already a subscriber? Sign in

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Vox Media, LLC Terms and Privacy Notice

By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice and to receive email correspondence from us.