"Bros": The first great average gay rom-com
A review.
Being the first to do something is never easy. If you excel, everything that comes after will live in your shadow. If you fail, the trail remains unblazed. So perhaps it’s better to just do an average job, because at the very least, it means you’ve lowered the bar, meaning those who come after you will no longer be held to impossible standards.
Such is the case of Bros, billed as the first major studio rom-com about a gay couple—or, as the film would specify, about a cis white millennial male gay couple. Written by and starring Billy Eichner, Bros is a funny, feel-good romp that touches on power dynamics within the LGBTQ community and the absurdities of modern romance. While it doesn’t necessarily revolutionize the rom-com like it intends to, it’s still a worthy addition to a genre on its last legs.
Eichner is Bobby Leiber, a neurotic, cynical podcaster who doesn’t “do” monogamy. He meets Aaron (Luke Macfarlane), a conventionally attractive “gay Tom Brady,” who similarly isn’t looking for a relationship. They don’t hook up, until they do, but they keep each other at arm’s length, until they don’t.
In an extremely meta scene that acts as the film’s thesis, Bobby meets with a Hollywood producer to discuss making a gay rom-com that “shows the world that gay relationships and straight relationships are the same.” They’re not the same, Bobby argues: “Our friendships are different. Our sex lives are different. Our relationships are different.” Still, Bros feels like something we’ve seen countless times before: the awkward meet-cute, the butterflies, the misunderstanding, the pulling away, the confession, the supportive sibling who shows up in two scenes but is meant to be the emotional crux of the film. But after all, what else would you expect from a film directed by Nicholas Stoller (Neighbors, Forgetting Sarah Marshall) and produced by Judd Apatow, the literati of white, bromantic suburbia?
At one point, Aaron tells Bobby, “Getting angry at things is like, your brand.” That sums up Eichner’s comedic affect in this film—a snarky complaint here, a pop culture reference there, all at a mile a minute. While amusing when hurled at unbothered New Yorkers in his Funny or Die show Billy on the Street, a feature-length dose of Eichner’s perennial scoffing and sneering is not for everyone. Macfarlane, whose resume consists mostly of Hallmark movies, plays the “hot guy with an inferiority complex” trope with the strained charm of a Bachelorette contestant. Neither lead has the necessary star power to stand on his own, but their opposites-attract chemistry surprisingly works. The leads are elevated by a delightful supporting cast, which includes Ts Madison, Guy Branum, Jim Rash, Dot-Marie Jones, Miss Lawrence, and memorable cameos from Debra Messing and Bowen Yang.
Dispersed among truly cackle-worthy jokes (a Queer Eye parody, gender reveal orgies, cursed foursomes) is commentary on LGBTQ infighting, masculinity, and representation that leaves viewers with something to chew on. Bros also explores monogamy and fears of intimacy through a uniquely modern Grindr-enabled lens, something a typical rom-com would shy away from in fear of dating itself. In one scene, Bobby (but really, Eichner) delivers a monologue about being told all his life to “tone down” his queerness, and learning not to compromise. In that moment, at sunset, on a beach in Provincetown, he is free of the bravado. And that’s the beauty of the rom-com: seeing hardened people stripped down to their barest instincts, find love again, and become better versions of themselves.
Bobby, and the film itself, is obsessed with “rethinking history through a queer prism.” He hosts a podcast about queer history (called 11th Brick, because it was probably a cis white gay man that threw the eleventh brick at Stonewall) and is the executive director of the country’s first ever LGBTQ+ history museum (where he tries to put on a exhibit suggesting Abraham Lincoln was gay). The subtext is that Bros is a great, revisionist, history-making gay love story for the ages. Spoiler alert: it’s not, but what the film achieves is perfect enough. It proves that gay love stories don’t have to be tragic (like Brokeback Mountain), sensual (Call Me By Your Name), moody (Moonlight), sweet (Love, Simon), or political (Fire Island)—they can just be an average, fun time, and there’s a standard for that now. Isn’t that what equality is all about?