Fascism is only a nuisance. Don't worry about it. The pretty people say so.
These
sentences inform One Night Only, which occupies an alternate America
where premarital sex is outlawed except for 12 hours every year. This concept
could only work as fleet-footed entertainment if filtered through Powell &
Pressburger or Jacques Demy’s heightened visual aesthetics. Otherwise, it’s
innately the set-up for a Paul Verhoeven/Lizzie Borden/Stephen Winter movie
about America rotting from the inside.
However, One
Night Only comes from director Will Gluck. Save for 2010’s charming Easy
A, good decisions don't litter his filmography. In 2014, he decided what Annie
needed was lots of autotune. In 2018, he apparently read Beatrix Potter’s Peter
Rabbit books, threw them across the room upon realizing they were devoid of
James Corden snark, and opted to make two movies to correct that. Five years
later in 2023, Gluck mistakenly believed Sydney Sweeney could do broad comedy.
Following
this creative trajectory, he and screenwriter Travis Braun play the robbing of
bodily autonomy as just a cutesy launchpad for a generic rom-com. If you’re
going to go down that route, you better deliver something entertaining or fun.
No such luck here.
One
Night Only follows
two New Yorkers hunkering down for their 12 hours of premarital sexual freedom.
Inevitably, all their plans go awry. Pizza shop manager Owen's (Callum Turner)
girlfriend suddenly wants to sleep with someone else tonight. Allie (Monica
Barbaro) is feeling lonesome after her best buddy abandoned her at the start of
this night. After that disappointment, she keeps encountering difficulties
getting laid. Throughout the night, Owen and Allie keep running into each
other. Maybe these conventionally attractive people with plenty of disposable
income could click.
Braun’s One
Night Only story structure sends Allie and Owen through a bunch of “wacky”
vignettes (like an outdoor sex rendezvous gone wrong or struggling with condom
purchases). It’s a bunch of standalone segments or TV episodes strung together,
as if Gluck and Braun modeled One Night Only after early 2000s
direct-to-video Disney fare like Tarzan & Jane or Atlantis:
Milo’s Return. This epitomizes the disjointed and shoddy storytelling
sensibilities permeating the whole movie.
Another
microcosm of this problem? The lazy script’s half-hearted execution of
Chekhov’s Guns. Braun groggily introduces new character details (like Allie’s
fear of singing in public) and then pays them off five minutes later. There’s
no elongated journey towards character growth. There’s no joy in watching
people gradually come into their own over the course of a night. No wonder
these people are so dramatically inert. Meanwhile, One Night Only spends
so much time on world-building, exposition, and didactic dialogue about
character defects that there’s no time for fun.
Granted,
how could fun emerge in a movie whose idea of “wit” is having every character
talk like Vince Vaughn impersonating Ryan Reynolds? Sarcastic quips and “well,
that happened”-adjacent clunkers litter the One Night Only script as
often as F-bombs materialize in Anora. Such shoddy writing leaves a bevy
of talented actors stranded with nary any punchlines or personality to exude.
I’d ask why someone hysterical like Ziwe received no jokes to deliver. However,
nobody in One Night Only has funny lines. It’s a romantic comedy too
sterile to be swoon-worthy and too bereft of humor to inspire laughs.
That
former problem is such a weird issue in a movie about the one night a year
people can bone. This premise requires filmmakers comfortable with all corners
of sexuality, like Gregg Araki, Angela Robinson, or Lily and Lana Wachowski.
Instead, Gluck and Braun bring weird prudishness to One Night Only.
Right from the start, Allie makes weird comments (that the audience is supposed
to agree with) about how “short” her best gal pal’s outfit is. Any fleeting
depictions of or references to kink are either connected to antagonists or
mocking punchlines.
Embracing
sex for fun or exploring your personality is for supporting characters and
deviants. Audiences only ever see one person who isn’t super skinny and beefy
making out with somebody, while all make out/sexual sessions reinforce
traditional gender roles (save for one outdoor comedic sequence, there’s no men
being subservient to women here, no siree). This is all so vanilla that one
must wonder if One Night Only is a sex comedy for Christian weirdos
yearning for a “sin tax” mandate for OnlyFans creators. This element isn’t just
cringe-inducing. It also epitomizes why One Night Only is so boring.
This film’s too buttoned up and conventional to embrace elements that would
give it personality and verve.
Similarly
frustrating adherence to not alienating privileged viewers manifests in One
Night Only details reflecting resentment towards “the mandate” (the
in-universe term for this “no pre-marital sex” law). All graffiti in this
universe says variations on “fuck The Mandate”. Small signs saying “repeal”
occupy windows. Allie’s apartment features a poster with a pro-Mandate
politician drawn to look like Satan. However, none of the characters themselves
are politically active or aggressively hostile towards The Mandate.
They’re
happy to go along with the status quo and not ruffle feathers. Allie, Owen, and
the other One Night Only characters aren’t just written as “apolitical”
to ensure the movie doesn’t alienate cushy right-wing audiences. Perish the
thought these fictional individuals say something relevant to a modern
political age where the government plans
to restrict abortion access nationwide. It also renders this story's
denizens immensely boring. They could all easily exist in any other rom-com. A
starting premise this bonkers shouldn’t inspire characters so monotonous.
I could
ramble on and on about how One Night Only frustrates. The deluge of pop
song needle drops, for instance, feel like Gluck repeatedly attempting to
recreate the popularity of Anyone but You’s “Unwritten” end credits
number. Something tells me dropping Maroon 5’s “Payphone” in 2026 won’t have
people dancing in the aisles. Too many jokes boil down to celebrity references
to Pete Davidson, Glen Powell, or Coleen Hoover. Insipid camerawork further
dilutes any chances of this movie exuding something resembling a personality.
Oh, and people in-universe have tracking chips inserted into their wrists
(which ensures the police can monitor their sexual activity), which is only
introduced so Allie can ramble about her backstory. What the Hell is this
nightmare movie?
Rom-coms
live and die based on their two lead performers. In that respect, One Night
Only at least is half successful since Monica Barbaro is charming. Her
solid singing voice and recognizably human personality are welcome balms in
such an off-putting production. On the other hand, Callum Turner is a wash as
Owen. The only distinctive acting choice Brit performer Turner delivers is
inexplicably making his American accent a Chris Evans impression. Whether it’s
wooden line deliveries or shrug-worthy physicality, Turner’s a snooze. Nine
years after anchoring The Only Living Boy in New York, his dismal
leading man abilities haven’t improved.
One
Night Only clearly
wants to mimic Howard Hawks screwball comedies like Ball of Fire or Bringing
Up Baby, where mismatched duos stumble into one wacky adventure after
another. This production, though, doesn’t have the humor, creativity or
sizzling chemistry fueling those titles. Instead, this 2026 motion emphasizes
lots of Durex product placement, cowardly storytelling instincts, a strangely
pearl-clutching attitude towards sex, and a runtime that refuses to end. If
that all sounds great, go watch pretty people reassure viewers how “maybe the
fascists got this one right” (an actual line from the movie). The rest of us
shall savor actually good modern rom-coms like Rye Lane.
One Night Only hits theaters everywhere on August 7.
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