Ladies First review — Gender-swap comedy starts strong, stumbles

Directed by Thea Sharrock | Written by Natalie Krinsky, Cinco Paul, and Katie Silberman, based on I Am Not an Easy Man by Eléonore Pourriat | 90 min | ▲▲▲ | Netflix

This is an interesting case of a broad, British workplace comedy dropping on Netflix with some of the year’s worst reviews so far. The cast is too starry to ignore, with Sasha Baron Cohen and Rosamund Pike as the leads, surrounded by a who’s-who of UK thesps, including Emily Mortimer, Weruche Opia, Charles Dance, Fiona Shaw, Richard E Grant, Bill Paterson, Kathryn Hunter, Bill Paterson, and Paul Chahidi. It’s based on a French comedy from 2018 — also available on Netflix, but unseen by me — and directed by Thea Sharrock, whose last film was the fun Wicked Little Letters, another comedy with a message about misogyny. The writers include the incredible Katie Silberman, whose credits include the best comedy of the past 10 years, Booksmart, and the underloved Don’t Worry Darling, and Natalie Krinsky, who worked on the terrific romcom, Broken Hearts Gallery.

Cohen plays Damien Sachs, a suave chauvinist pig in charge of a marketing agency in London called Atlas. He’s the king of his domain, used to treating the women around him like servants, never having serious relationships and undervaluing his professional colleagues. He’s forced to welcome Alex Fox (Pike) into the creative team of a Guinness rebranding pitch and then ridicules her good ideas, encouraging her to quit. This while he taunts the administrative assistant, Felicity Chase (Shaw), who seems to have a bit of a crush on him, a very old-school Miss Moneypenny vibe.

This introduction is silly but not outrageous — the 007 associations are definitely intentional, and include a score that evokes both John Barry and Thomas Newman.

Then Damien gets a knock on his head and wakes up in a world where women make all the rules. This isn’t a kinder, more equitable world, but one where women behave just like men in power do now — with a roguish swagger of terminal unaccountability.  Alex is now in charge at Atlas, Felicity is CEO. When they get together at the end of the day to swig cocktails they complain about Damien in their meeting.  “He was testerical,” says Alex. Felicity moans about having to put up with “meninist shit.”

This is the most fun portion of the film, the brief second act — the visual gags come thick and fast as the picture reminds us how much of the media we see is by default by and for men — we instead get ads for Burger Queen, Five Gals, and a woman’s silhouette instead of the Michael Jordan Nike logo, with Saudi Arabia finally allowing men to drive. Also, the dudes in this world wear make-up and are forced to sport testicle bras. Damien’s sister (Mortimer) advises him that no “one is going to promote you if you’re not remotely fuckable,” encouraging him to dress more provocatively at work.

The hilarity ratchets up as Damien becomes more miserable, even going for a penile implant. The only character who recognizes the world has changed and offers Damien any insight is a homeless guy with pigeons living on his head (Grant).

If the filmmakers had continued to shine a light at the hypocrisy of gender expectations in the workplace this could’ve been an all-timer, or at least up there with something like What Women Want or the recent Send Help, but the script eases toward a romcom model, putting Damien and Alex  in a screwball mode where they begrudgingly start to respect each other’s competitive game in a fight for control of the agency. This softens the satiric edge of the first part of the film, which is a real shame. As the picture careers off its rails we still have the pleasure of this cadre of terrific actors to keep us company, but it definitely loses its teeth for a sickly, earnest conclusion.

Still, I’d suggest it’s a lot more fun than the RT critics who’ve given it an appalling 13% rating. I get that some feel this material is dated, but in the UK where gender-critical forces are amassed and right wing conservatives are marching in the streets, even clumsy progressive comedies have a place. We can appreciate them from a distance.

About the author

flawintheiris

Carsten Knox is a massive, cheese-eating nerd. In the day he works as a journalist in Halifax, Nova Scotia. At night he stares out at the rain-slick streets, watches movies, and writes about what he's seeing.

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