DDespite Netflix’s ever-growing size and dominance, the streamer continues to struggle with its most obvious goal. While audiences may flock there for frivolous dating shows, tawdry true crime, Harlan Coben thrillers and hard-boiled rom-coms, the platform is not yet known for creating original film franchises, the bread and butter of most old-fashioned Hollywood studios, for better or for worse.
The problem that Netflix often faces is that turning a big-budget bet into a cultural event requires more than just low-stakes flicks at home and short conversations on the weekends. Large numbers of people might have welcomed franchise starters Red Notice and The Gray Man, but a lack of real long-term interest meant sequels didn’t follow and Chris Pratt’s most expensive film, The Electric State, sank among audiences and critics alike. That’s why the success of last year’s KPop Demon Hunter, a true all-consuming giant, was such an important victory, even if the film technically started life at Sony. There will be a sequel, of course, although there’s always been something of a hit-or-miss feeling about the first film’s transformation into a pop culture phenomenon, as if no one really knew what they had on their hands.
Enola Holmes was another film shot elsewhere—this time at Warners—and one of many theatrical offerings sold to the streamer during the pandemic (in a similar way, Fox’s Fear Street trilogy became, for me, the greatest series on the platform). Netflix has proven to be a strong keeper of Enola, releasing a sequel that was arguably slightly better than the first, and the inevitable third film (the second was another runaway hit) continues down the same path, bringing back names in front of and behind the camera. But the journey is already starting to get a little tiring, since the same thing provides noticeably less than what worked in the first place.
What worked was its mixture of peppy energy, a reasonably engaging mystery and some superbly crafted history and life lessons for a young female audience. Again there are intermittently successful bits of all three, but not enough to make this one slide in the same way: a happily passable franchise perhaps reaching premature exhaustion. British playwright Jack Thorne returns as writer, fresh from his teenage success, and brings with him the show’s director, Philip Barantini, replacing Fleabag’s Harry Bradbeer. Anyone hoping that Enola would take on the dangers of toxic masculinity or that the film would be one continuous take will be left disappointed, but Barantini proves to be a safe but rather anonymous pair of hands.
It’s time for Enola (Millie Bobby Brown, who again looks too much like someone using Instagram to convince herself as a 20-year-old Victorian girl) to marry her slightly sleazy beau Tewksbury (Louis Partridge). But their wedding, taking place on the island of Malta, falls apart when Enola learns that her brother Sherlock (Henry Cavill in a cameo role) has been kidnapped. Cue magnifying glass.
Thorne again finds a graceful way to raise interesting questions without resorting to a heavy hand. Enola, a resourceful and headstrong young woman,’s choice to become someone’s wife is criticized by her older brother, who worries what such a restrictive and sexist institution will do to her, while the island’s dark history and British colonial rule give what is essentially a young adult adventure more substance than one might expect. But none of these are woven into the plot as gracefully as one would like, the rough edges are smoothed over too easily, and despite the initial appeal of the location, the film feels too small to be called an escapist summer blockbuster, especially compared to the two grander previous installments, with the sets now kept to a cost-cutting minimum. Thorne rightly acknowledged that Enola becomes a more characterful character as she solves the problems posed by karate chops, but the mystery is too tedious and too simple to ever really grab us.
The specifics of the plot call for the return of both Helena Bonham Carter as Enola’s mother (doing her job, and doing it well) and Sharon Duncan-Brewster as Moriarty (doing too much even for such an evil character), but it all falls back on Brown’s shoulders, who once again struggle under the weight. There’s just a lack of natural, easy charm, and the star, like many maturing child actors before her, can’t figure out how big or small to match her adult reactions, making anything buoyant and light feel too much like hard work.
Moving on to the credits before the 100-minute mark, it is at least shorter than the last two films, which both clocked in at over two hours, but in some ways it feels more like a lack of new ideas and general enthusiasm on the part of those involved. With its “what if BLANK goes on vacation” type sequel, it really feels like tired franchise filler, as if the next Enola caper will carry more weight and have a lot more at stake. At this early stage, Netflix might be wise to leave her alone.