DOES "BROS" MATTER?

Better late than never, they say. But is it? I went to see “Bros” a week after its critical box office debut.[1] The two tickets I purchased will do nothing to alter its designation as a flop. This post isn’t to critique the movie but to consider the importance of its release. Straight audiences didn’t show up, but I get the sense a lot of LGBTQ folks gave it a pass, too.

 

My quick two cents on the movie: It’s worth seeing. I laughed more than I do during most movies. It wasn’t so much major plot points that got me chuckling—rom-coms follow a formula—but there were plenty of amusing observations about gay men and pop culture that peppered the script. Billy Eichner’s Bobby talks in rapid rants—reminded me of Woody Allen, in a good way (if I’m allowed to extend a nod to Woody anymore). I’m sure I’ll appreciate the commentary even more on a second viewing once the movie goes to streaming. That’s right, I’d watch it again. Something for Vancouver’s upcoming monthslong rainy season. I saw a lot of my own frustrations about gay culture and dating in the movie. Thumbs up. On the Meg Ryan rom-com scale, not in “When Harry Met Sally” territory, but on par with “You’ve Got Mail.”

 

Prior to its release, “Bros” was billed in the media as a big deal: first wide release of a gay film by a major movie studio. It played on more than three thousand screens in North America. Much of the publicity focused on the fact that virtually all roles, straight or queer, were played by LGBTQ actors. By golly, this was the Gayest Thing Ever in Hollywood! (I’m still hoping for a big screen premiere of “Bert Loves Ernie.”)

 

If a gay film appears in theaters and nobody shows up, did it even happen?

 

It grossed five million during its opening weekend, September 30-October 2. Not horrendous but not a winner considering the film’s reported twenty-two-million-dollar budget. By comparison, the top movie that weekend was another debut, the psychological horror film, “Smile,” which earned close to twenty-three million. There will be more weeks in theaters and more revenue streams, but it’s unlikely “Bros” will turn a profit. (As of today, it’s earned $10.8 million.)  

 

Does the mediocre box office matter to anyone besides theater owners, Universal Pictures and the producers and stars of “Bros”?  I would argue it does. Rightly or wrongly, “Bros” has been held up as a Big Gay Movie and it will serve as a barometer for financing future queer films that dare to play beyond the indie leagues. 

 

The takeaway that it tanked doesn’t bode well. “Bros” is no breakthrough for gays the way “Crazy Rich Asians” was purported to be for Asian actors and works. I suspect that the immediate response of most LGBTQ people is a shrug. There is plenty of queer content on streaming channels and by accessing queer film festivals online. Productions with smaller budgets will continue. I don’t really need to see an epic car chase or CGI-created elephant stampedes in gay stories I watch. Perhaps that apocalyptic sci-fi thriller with gays making an exodus to Uranus—is that still the gays’ favorite planet?—will never see the light of day. I don’t think that sex scene in spacesuits would have done anything for me anyway.

 

Maybe “Bros” was an ill-advised experiment. Maybe the headline-making pre-release hype—an attempt to increase interest, aka ticket sales—hurts us in the end. Maybe it puts LGBTQ people in their place. We can marry, we can get bakers to make fancy rainbow cakes (with reduced-fat icing, thank you), we can aspire to be the CEO of Apple or run for president. We just can’t expect straight people to come out to see us as the focal point of a love story on the big screen. Let us remain sidekicks who own avant-garde galleries, don gorgeous garments and drop snappy one-liners. Pals not paramours. 

 

The movie’s lackluster box office does not mean a thumbs down to all gay stories, although I fear that’s how many studios will construe it. It’s the wrong genre. We stand a better chance as a Marvel hero or a cinematic doctor/lawyer/detective/villain…really, anything but a love interest. Rom-coms are never what straight men crave. Presumably, they get dragged along by their girlfriends on date night, hoping it may pay dividends—sex or a Sunday football viewing marathon. I’m not sure straight women are even up for a gay rom-com, but I’m certain they know better than to think they can drag along their husband or boyfriend. I read lots of comments about “Bros” on Twitter from guys purporting to be straight. Despite LGBTQ advances, a dude can stay entrenched with his standard line: Two guys kissing? Hell, no! 

 

The fact Judd Apatow was a producer of the movie didn’t help. In fact, it may have even hurt in terms of expanding viewership. Apatow is known for infusing raunch into comedies that might otherwise get classified as rom-coms. It meant more ticket sales for flicks like “Knocked Up” and “Trainwreck.” In “Bros,” that means talk of a throuple and glimpses of what’s supposed to be a four-way gay sex scene. 

 

Cue straight dude: Ewwwwww! Double hell no! Triple! Quadruple…and whatever comes after that. I think the majority of straight guys have come around to thinking, “You can be gay. That’s cool. Just don’t talk to me about the gay sex stuff.” Adding visuals only makes them squirmy. I would imagine that, if any were actually in the theater seats, they’d have sprinted down the aisle for an emergency popcorn situation. More butter, STAT! 

 

Would straight women choose “Bros” as a girls’ night out flick? Again, doubtful. Gay men have spent their lives having to see themselves in female rom-com characters portrayed by Kate Hudson and Julia Roberts, but women have never had to make the gender and sexual orientation adjustments. They can wait around for the next man-woman rom-com to hit the theater, turn on the Hallmark Channel or catch another viewing of “The Proposal” somewhere online.

 

There was never an urgency in the LGBTQ community to see “Bros” during the opening weekend or ever. This was not a matter of life or death as was AIDS activism. This was not about civil rights as was marriage equality. Even in terms of the arts, the stakes weren’t so critical, as in the case of censorship of Robert Mapplethorpe’s photos or the banning of books like George M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue, Lesléa Newman and Diana Souza’s Heather Has Two Mommies or David Levithan’s Two Boys Kissing. “Bros” has given the greenlight without any significant blowback. I did a quick Google search and didn’t even find anything about picketers out front of a single theater that showed the movie. To be sure, that’s an indication of progress, but it can also make people blasé about any Big Gay Movie (that doesn’t include a bathtub scene with a rubber duckie).

 

Still, the relative failure of “Bros” will cause major studios will be even more hesitant about gay fare. The conclusion goes beyond the notion that Billy Eichner and Luke Macfarlane aren’t leading men at the box office. All gay actors in gay roles are a risk. (Can’t we just go back to casting Tom Hanks and Jake Gyllenhaal?) There is trickle-down harm for all sorts of gay creatives. Basically, the perceived apathy over “Bros,” as jumped on by the media, may lead investors to question banking other gay works in the arts. We are reduced to being a niche market. Profits are minimal. Producing works focused on Tom Cruise and Sonic the Hedgehog are safer bets. That’s right, our stories take a back seat to a blue animated hedgehog. 

 

Had “Bros” blossomed, I would have mentioned it in queries for my gay novel that I’m trying to get published. When seeking an agent or publisher to take a chance on a manuscript, it’s common practice to pitch “comps,” listing titles the work is comparable to. It helps them see there may be a market for the book, that it will turn a profit. They’re trying to make a living, after all. Flops don’t put steak dinners on the table or even generic-brand peanut butter sandwiches. Yes, I had high hopes for “Bros.” Its success might have given me a greater shot at success, along with other developers of gay comedy.

 

People want gay stories! 

 

There’s a market for humorous tales about older gay men trying to navigate the dating scene! 

 

But is there?

 

“Bros” got decent reviews but that didn’t help to build an audience. You can be sure I will dare not speak its name in my query letters. If I were to say my novel is similar to “Bros,” there isn’t a single agent or publisher that would get excited. Ooh! Let me get this book published and then I’ll figure out how to apply for food stamps.

 

Nope. Not mentioning “Bros.” Also not mentioning “Uncoupled” which starred Neil Patrick Harris and aired on Netflix this fall. (Its eight-episode run was set up for a second season, but Netflix hasn’t rushed any announcement in that regard. Speculation is that’s not going to happen. Older gay men looking for love? Not a draw. Even when “older” means forty-something and the men are in great shape. Too much reality. Leave that for RuPaul and gay men giving makeovers. We are niche at best.

 

Go see “Bros” anyway. It’s not going to be a sleeper hit, but I’d venture to guess it’s more entertaining than the blue hedgehog movie which grossed $403.8 million globally. Money is not an indicator of quality in a work but, alas, it has a major impact on what entertainment is available over the next several years. If you yearn to see another larger-scale work about gay relationships, it will probably be a while. Maybe “Sonic the Hedgehog” will be the new comp to use in persuading a studio to take a chance on Bert and Ernie. Please tell me you’d at least show up for that one.

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

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[1] I failed to see it during its opening weekend since I was on a road trip in Canada’s Rocky Mountain region, kayaking on Lake Louise, hiking Glacier National Park and spending internet-free evenings in a cabin, listening to wolves howl at the moon. I didn’t think to reschedule. My bad.

"SINGLE ALL THE WAY" (Netflix Movie Review)

First, a confession: My waning interest in romantic comedies

I’ll admit I’ve gotten jaded. There was a time when rom-coms were cinematic crack to me. My favorite movie remains “When Harry Met Sally” which has held the crown for thirty-two years. I’ll gladly watch “Moonstruck” over and over, although it’s more to relish Olympia Dukakis’s role than the Cher-Nicolas Cage pairing. (The casting of Cage still feels like the film’s one flaw.) “Silver Linings Playbook,” while to some degree a brilliant ensemble flick, has a romance at its core.  Lesser works like “Sleepless in Seattle,” “Only You” (with Marisa Tomei) and “Pretty in Pink” remain Saturday-afternoon-channel-flipping worthy (if I still channel flipped). I liked the genre and the movies offered hope. Yeah, that’s what I want (…but not with Nicolas Cage). 

 

The prospect of me finding love has gone from “Please” to “Perhaps” to, well, something just short of “Poppycock.” I suppose that’s why the newer offerings in the genre now trigger eye rolls more than some warm feeling inside and a tear or two of joy. It’s better to be cold-hearted than to wallow in “Why not me?” for thirty minutes or three weeks following the credits. Set a romantic comedy in the Christmas season and I go full-on humbug. (I won’t elaborate here. Go ahead and enjoy your candy canes—are you really going to eat them?—and your fruitcake while listening to that version of “Jingle Bells” with dogs barking. Joy.)

 

Last year, I watched a couple of seasonal romance movies due to the relative novelty of the lead characters being gay. Maybe I’d find something more relatable. Maybe I’d feel a fleeting sense of hope again. Or maybe I’d just while away ninety minutes staring at eye candy and wishing, if nothing else, that I could be in the snow. That’s what I got: eye candy and snow envy.

 

And now, on to “Single All the Way”

Last night, I gave it another try. December 2^nd is freaking early for me to let a little Christmas in, but “Single All the Way” was the primary image that popped up on my Netflix menu and it was an easy click instead of spending twenty-five minutes scrolling through options Netflix thinks I’ll like. (How is “Hustlers” a 95% match for me and why is “Trail Park Boys” even a 69% match? Seriously? YouTube knows me so much better.) The stickler in me may have even been drawn by the title. Yes, let’s have the main character be single at the beginning, in the middle and at the end. Truth in advertising: single at all stages. Let that be okay. 

 

But that’s not allowed. Even I know that.

 

Truth is, I liked the movie. I liked it more than the holiday gay romance films from last year and it’s not as though I’m any less Grinchy. Perhaps the humbug hasn’t fully kicked in yet or maybe last year’s fare helped me see that dressing up Christmas romance movies in gay apparel didn’t elevate the genre. Really though, I think it came down to a better cast and script.

 

The movie started off standard. Michael Urie, whom I loved back in the day when he was snarky Marc St. James on “Ugly Betty,” plays Peter, a character who isn’t so much chronically single—let’s not make him too sad, after all—as a short-term dater. It’s not even that he’s some cad who loves ’em and leaves ’em. No, they leave him. He picks the wrong guys. But he’s got his plants to console him. He may have a shallow job as a social media publicist but he’s passionate about plants…and not in a Seth Rogen kind of way. He also has his bestie roomie whom he’s known for nine years, the handsome but unassuming Nick, played by Philemon Chambers. Yes, Nick’s great but gays aren’t like rabbits—at least, not in their own warren. Borrowing from “When Harry Met Sally,” Peter and Nick are proff that gay men can be great friends without sex ever getting in the mix. 

 

Peter’s in a new, perfect relationship with a cardiologist blessed with a model’s looks and Nick’s just happy to do on-demand odd jobs (like a Door Dash handyman) while trying to come up with a sequel to an immensely successful picture book about his dog. 

 

[MILD SPOILER ALERT: I was quite concerned in the early going of the movie since I figured this was going to be a “Pretty in Pink” storyline where Peter has to choose between his best friend (à la Duckie) or the supposedly more obvious choice (à la Andrew McCarthy’s blander, blue-eyed Blane). The cardiologist character was blander than bland. (Can’t even recall the color of his eyes so there you go.) Thankfully this who-will-he-choose romance doesn’t ultimately include the doctor. The story mercifully abandons the L.A. setting with its unlikable supporting characters and heads to New Hampshire where Peter goes to spend two weeks with his family for the holidays.]

 

I’ve learned that romances have certain familiar themes—tropes—that romance lovers yearn for. “Single All the Way” not only has the who-will-he-choose triangle but hauls out the pretend-we’re-a-couple premise. In older gay movies, it may have been the gay man needed a woman to play the role of girlfriend to quell his family’s questions about why he isn’t dating. In this story, Peter convinces Nick to fly to New Hampshire with him with the same objective: to quell the Qs about why Peter’s still single. (They know he’s gay and fully accept him. But he’s got to find someone, right?) It’s supposed to be that insufferable when Peter goes home alone. Without Nick as a fake boyfriend, the entire visit will have everyone focused on Peter’s troubled dating life. Apparently, Santa and eggnog are slated as also-rans.

 

Okay, so Peter may be a bit of a drama queen and Nick may be a bit of an enabler/sucker but, hey, New Hampshire (or whatever passes for it as a filming location) looks nice in the snow. And snow allows the introduction of a hunky ski instructor/gym trainer whom Peter’s mother, played by Kathy Najimy, sets him up with, not knowing about this Peter-Nick ruse which Nick immediately bows out of so Peter can go on this blind date with James, played by Canadian actor Luke Mcfarlane who was Kevin Walker’s adorable gay boyfriend Scotty on “Brothers & Sisters.” Yes, I’ve had a crush on Mcfarlane since then, but I have to admit that his current, beefed-up body looks a tad overdone. (Gimme the old Scotty.) It was also disconcerting that this version of Mcfarlane looks startlingly like I guy I really fell for seven years ago who dragged me along for an entire summer—most of it while we were in different countries—and then dumped me with a line I swear guys should never use: “I don’t know if I’m attracted to you.” Sadly, I’ve heard that a few times. Please, stick with “It’s not you, it’s me.” It’s lame but the sting isn’t so much less.

 

Okay, so nice to see Mcfarlane in the role of Peter’s other possible love interest. Will it be longtime roomie Nick (who has a very nice body too with perhaps less bulk) or hunky jock James (whom we never get to see shirtless in what should’ve been an obligatory après-ski hot tub scene)? 

 

What I loved

In the opening L.A. scenes, Urie comes off as playing the same snarky character from “Ugly Betty” which works better for a supporting character. Thankfully the script and the change of setting soften the role and make him a likable lead. Some may consider it a problem though that the women characters are more engaging, due to the stellar casting of Najimy as the mom, Jennifer Robertson (who played Jocelyn on “Schitt’s Creek”) as a sister and Jennifer Coolidge as an aunt. None of them venture much beyond what we’ve come to expect from them, but I would happily watch a sequel to see these three actresses continue their roles. Heck, Netflix, how about a series? With this shining trio, it must have been a challenge in the script and the filming to offer anything to the other supporting roles. Barry Bostwick as the father starts strongly in a quick phone appearance but then is reduced to being a passive, wise, calmer presence as a counterbalance to the women. The other characters—Peter’s two brothers-in-law and another sister—have nothing to do and little to say. They only exist to explain where Peter’s two young nephews and two adolescent nieces came from, each of whom have more lines than their parents (other than Robertson’s role).

 

Often when I watch a rom-com, especially when it’s a Netflix-original, the emphasis is on the rom, with the com basically a no-show. At some point after the first third of this movie, I laughed out loud and I had reason to ho ho several more times thereafter. When the sister played by Robertson seems to place herself on Team Nick, she says, “Nick’s a ten and Peter is a ten in New Hampshire.” It’s such a sisterly thing to say. There’s also a tiny monologue by Coolidge that perhaps befits the actress more than the character. (I’m putting it in a footnote[1] which you’re welcome to skip reading if you’re planning to watch the movie.)

 

Coolidge’s Aunt Sandy runs rehearsals for a children’s Christmas pageant which she calls “Jesus H. Christ” which just seemed amusing to me as I imagined possible middle names. I’d never heard it before but apparently it’s been around since the nineteenth century, sometimes considered as profane, other times humorous. There’s a Madonna reference I won’t spoil but it’s quite clever (and oh so gay). Perhaps my favorite WTF moment was Coolidge’s appearance in the Christmas pageant, dressed as Glinda the Good Witch from “The Wizard of Oz.” It’s just a visual gag but it had me freezing the screen and quickly verifying my hunch on Google Images. Bang on. Bravo!

 

My biggest quibble:

When I blogged about the two gay Christmas rom-coms last year, I griped about the lack of diversity. Yes, they made the season gay but things looked like an awfully white Christmas, with or without snow. In “Single All the Way,” Nick is Black. There’s the added diversity. I suppose these things take time, but I don’t recall anything mentioned about his race. I’m sure the intent is to show that Peter and his family totally accept Nick to such a degree that no mention is necessary. (By contrast though, the gay thing comes up a lot.) Other than a kid in the pageant who has a line or two, there are no other Black characters. No Black friends. No one from Nick’s family. (There’s reference to the fact his mother died not so long ago.) I don’t even know if Nick was written as a Black character in the original script. Given the role as filmed, Nick could have been played by someone who is Asian, white or First Nations. Part of the problem may be that the character of Nick is underdeveloped in the first place. He smiles a lot in a guarded way, often from just behind Peter’s back. He supports Peter. He’s Mr. Nice Guy who, pardon the expression, comes off as white bread. No wonder Peter’s overlooked him for nine years. I wanted more Nick for Nick instead of just Nick for Peter, if that makes sense.

 

In a Nutshell

No regrets watching “Single All the Way.” It exceeded my expectations which were, admittedly, low. Thumbs up and I really mean it when I say I’d watch a sequel or follow these characters in a series. That’s a jolly endorsement from a begrudging Grinch.

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] “The gays just know how to do stuff. They’re survivors. And for some reason, they’re always obsessed with me. I don’t know why, but I like it.”

WORTH ANOTHER LOOK

Okay, so in my last post I devoted a thousand (plus) words to an encounter that consisted of four glances. Total glance time: 10, maybe 11 seconds. Total time, including moments of stunned ineptitude between said glances: 45, maybe 50 seconds.

 

It was actually 1,380 words. (That’s 27.6 words per second. Must edit better.)

 

Sorry. Maybe the past ten months saying I needed no one and professing to love being single without any possible prospects bore too much bluster. I still don’t think so. I like time on my own. What I’ve learned during various incarnations of lockdown is I miss travel. Men? Meh.

 

But if opportunity knocks…

 

Handsome Man Walking Dog notices me and suddenly I’ve entered Hallmark movie territory. Apologies to Luke Macfarlane as I may have taken one of his roles. (It’s a “sorry, not sorry” from one Canadian to another. How have I missed all eight of adorable Luke’s Hallmark movie appearances?) I decided it was worth considering another glance-fest, maybe even a daring exchange of hellos. (“Hi” sounds more casual, right? “Hey” is too casual, verging on coffee barista indifference.)

 

Over the next week I went back. Same place, same time. Not every day. That would be desperate. (I skipped Monday.) I can’t be sure, but I think he was there every time. I can’t be sure since he now had an extra dog and he didn’t look as good. Do I have that fickle gay gene? 

 

I reminded myself that there were no suitors waiting in the wings. Heck, there are no wings. They got repurposed after lack of use. 

 

My first day back, I was back to my old self. No confidence. Eyes on the pavement, avoiding the cracks that might break my mother’s back. Noble, right? (That should be rewarded.) If he looked, I wouldn’t know. Still, he could’ve approached, said something about the weather, COVID or Meghan and Harry. They’re the standard chitchat topics these days. Clearly, he couldn’t make a choice. I may have made him nervous. He walked on. 

 

The next day, I dared to look. It was the quickest of glances, but long enough for me to see him looking straight ahead, my image registering no more than a one of the dozens of trees in the park. As the days went on, I lengthened my gaze. It’s less gutsy when you know it’s perfectly safe. Still, I focused on the task before me.

 

No doubt, my look remained a work-in-progress. It wasn’t anything in the realm of “Come hither,” but it was a very clear “I see you.” And yet he didn’t see me. 

 

Maybe he’s the one with the fickle gene.

 

Then, it happened. He scowled. It wasn’t directly at me, but I was definitely in range. Message received. Even if it wasn’t intended for me, why would I want to date a random scowler? If he scowls for no reason, what would he do if I put the orange juice carton back with only a few drip-drops left? What if he found a hair of mine in the bathroom sink? What if I didn’t smell Irish Spring-fresh after a run? (These things have been known to happen.) 

 

Bullet dodged.

 

Anything gained? I’ll always have that fifty seconds of four over-the-shoulder glances. The fact he turned out to be The Scowler can’t negate that. So many possibilities never lead to anything. There’s also the chance that The Scowler with Two Dogs is just a case of mistaken identity, that my Handsome Man Walking Dog really and truly only has one dog and is still out there, Fido’s pee schedule too irregular for me to expect such an easy, Hallmark-approved Scene 2. “And cut. Can someone’s get Luke Macfarlane’s agent on the line?” 

 

Wasn’t meant to be. 

 

Doesn’t matter. For a moment, I felt noticed. I extended that moment into a week of what ifs and, dare I say, hope. (Bonus: I blogged that week in half as many words.) That’s enough.

 

 

LIFE WITHOUT “PARTNERS”

When CBS cancelled its freshman sitcom within twenty-four hours of ABC’s axing of “Last Resort” and “666 Park Avenue,” the Internet furor never came.  Of the three shows, “Partners” generated the least network hate.  While the show was okay, it was far from must-see TV.

There was a time when I’d tune in to any show that featured a gay character.  I wanted to see Billy Crystal on “Soap”, but my mother forbid me from watching.  The first regular gay characters I remember were Steven Carrington on Dynasty and that throw-away gay couple that engaged in the first televised same sex bed scene on “thirtysomething”.  In the 1990s, I remember gathering with a group of friends on Monday nights to see if Matt would ever gain a sex life on “Melrose Place”.  Then came “Will & Grace” and the British and American versions of “Queer as Folk.” (I tried but I couldn’t stick with the American version.  The actor who played Michael annoyed me in every scene.) 

Yes, it used to be that gay characters on TV created Event Viewing for a gay man.  It is a sign of progress that such is no longer the case.  Admittedly, I stuck with a couple of extra seasons of “Brothers & Sisters”, primarily because of how adorable Kevin’s beau, Scotty, was.  (Oh, Luke Macfarlane, come back!)  While I regularly watch Cam and Mitchell on “Modern Family”, I choose to watch because the whole darn show is hysterical and all the actors are so talented.  Tossing in a needless gay couple on “Desperate Housewives” did not sustain my interest, I was a fickle fan of the dark, sometimes morose “Six Feet Under” with Michael C. Hall playing the gay brother and my days of feeling gleeful about “Glee” are past.

This fall, I looked forward to two new series that prominently featured gay characters.  Ryan Murphy’s “The New Normal” garnered more publicity, including threatened boycotts from the two dozen members of One Million Moms.  I watched a trailer of the show back in June and predicted the show would be dead on arrival.  I have watched two episodes and the only interesting character is the sage Shania Clemmons (played by Bebe Wood), the young daughter of the gay couple’s surrogate mom.  It has been given a full season order, not because anyone is talking about it around the water cooler, but I suspect because networks want in on Murphy’s Next Big Thing, assuming he has something left in the tank.

I felt “Partners” was the better show and watched it whenever I made it home early enough from the ferry on Monday nights.  It was fine, something to watch as I made dinner or checked emails.  Louis, as played by Michael Urie, was a married version of his character Marc St. James from “Ugly Betty”.  Moreover, there was something even more familiar.  The show might as well have been called “Will & Jack” as Louis was a slight tweaking of Sean Hayes’ Jack McFarland and his straight friend-for-life Joe had an uncanny resemblance to Eric McCormack’s Will Truman. (So often, I could hear McCormack’s voice delivering the lines.)  Been there, done that.  And better to boot!

Despite having a gay couple as half the main cast, “Partners” was nothing new.  It failed, not because America doesn’t want gays invading their living rooms, but because it had little to offer.  As over the top as Louis may have been, I liked him.  Can’t say the same for the other characters which were different incarnations of bland.  I confused the sassy office worker from “The New Normal” with the one on “Partners”—both parts are utterly disposable.  (Too bad they couldn’t poach David Spade.)  Most egregious was the depiction of Louis’ boyfriend, Wyatt, played by Superman stud Brandon Routh.  Who decided to make this piece of eye candy intentionally flavorless?  Wyatt was essentially a non-character.  If the creators wanted to cast someone to give a flat delivery of lines, why not go back to the original source and bring on Shelley Morrison’s Rosario?  (There’s got to be a Members Only jacket for sale on eBay.)   Finally, “Partners” did not fit in its time slot, not smart enough to follow “How I Met Your Mother” and not dumb enough to precede “Two Broke Girls”.  Simply stated, it was not enough.

It was “nice” knowing “Partners” for a couple of months, but we all know that relationships must evolve beyond nice.  This is one amicable breakup.