‘Marked Men: Rule + Shaw’ Review: Hopeful Romance Novel Franchise Kickoff Fails to Strike Sparks

Jay Crownover made a splash with readers of romance novels 12 years ago with “Rule,” a good-girl-tames-bad-boy tale that generated five interlocking follow-ups. Their blanket title “Marked Men” referred to tattoos — a frequent motif in the prolific author’s several subsequent books. Now there’s a screen translation in “Marked Men: Rule + Shaw,” which ostensibly draws on the whole sextet but focuses on its first installment.

Whether this Fathom Events release will itself generate sequels is a question mark left dangling at the end of these 90-odd minutes, which play theaters nationwide Jan. 22 and 23. Crownover’s fans enthuse over her bringing above-average character dimension to the genre’s usual “spicy” content requirements. Yet neither of those qualities really comes across in “The Notebook” director Nick Cassavetes’ feature, a fairly painless diversion — albeit one shallow as a kiddie pool in emotional engagement, while surprisingly short on sexy-time as well as chemistry between leads Chase Stokes and Sydney Taylor. Anyone not already attuned to the scribe’s print oeuvre is unlikely to want more of what they’ll get here, as its degree of vicarious friskiness doesn’t even rise to the level of an old “Red Shoes Diaries” re-run.

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A rather trashy good time is signaled at the outset, when we meet Rule (“Outer Banks”’ Stokes) at the Denver tattoo studio he shares with several other body-art specialists. That introduction suggests the main business of such places is fending off an endless line of hottie clients throwing themselves at the hunky inksmiths in residence. Rule dips into that recreational well often enough. But his fear of commitment greater than a one-night stand is apparently rooted in family dysfunction, especially feelings of guilt over his twin brother’s car-accident death. All this is known to Shaw (Taylor), a pre-med student he grew up with. They are the kind of “just friends” who’ve somehow been casting pining looks at each other their entire lives without ever noticing.

She’s supposed to be a “good girl,” while he’s a “rebellious” bad-boy, the story’s gist a classic opposites-attract dynamic. But Sharon Soboil’s screenplay doesn’t do a very vivid job delineating that divide. Shaw seems to study less than any pre-med in recorded history, rebeling against a Mommy Dearest played as an archaic caricature of rich snobbery by Nancy De Mayo. Get a couple birthday bar shots in Shaw, and suddenly she’s crawling in lingerie atop Rule’s billiards table, making like a “putty tat.”

For his part, puppy eyes and moderate angst do not comprise a very tough veneer, despite fistfights thrown in every once in a while. Those bouts are naturally in defense of Shaw’s honor, particularly when it’s sullied by mother-approved fratboy Richie Rich-type beau Gabe (Michael Bradway). She’ll dump him in a heartbeat once Rule wakes up and smells the Shawffie.

There is almost nothing keeping these two apart, so rote conflicts must be invented — notably a crisis around the two-thirds mark that involves a minor character, and presents a relationship speed-bump hardly potent enough to set our protagonists cheating on one another. One suspects that development is not intended to underline how incredibly vacuous and petulant these central characters appear, when we’re meant to regard them as soulful soulmates. It does, though.

Nor is there any depth whatsoever to a host of support characters played by attractive actors who don’t get to do a lot of acting here, perhaps excepting an alternately lively and too-strenuous Ayden Cross as Shaw’s flatmate Ella. Alexander Ludwig, Evan Mock, Matthew Noszka and Cora Lewis are among those reduced to well-toned background figures. The cast includes some ex-models, and let’s just say that no one risks straining a thespian muscle. Not even when called upon to begin yelling at each other, a frequent occurrence that poorly masks the lack of real dramatic substance.

Given its emphasis in title and plot, there’s oddly little visual emphasis on tattoos here. Even more curiously, Cassavetes doesn’t seem very interested in creating steamy sex scenes — the books’ core selling point. When Rule and Shaw finally get it on, the director skittishly cuts straight from foreplay to the morning after. Later, carnal action is essentially limited to montages which quickly move on to mashups of picturesque partying, al fresco frolicking, miscellaneous coolness (the tattoo crew do graffiti murals by night), etc., all the above accompanied by the sonic wallpaper of nearly 20 pop tracks from a range of artists.

Even male shirtlessness is relatively scarce. Its R rating owing mostly to cuss words, the film promises its target audience a form of mainstream erotica that goes largely undelivered. By default, its attentions drift toward the accoutrements of a semi-imaginary, quasi-boho/punk lifestyle, with everybody living in quirky cool pads and wearing quirky cool clothes. The tech and design personnel do nice work. But given the source material, it’s a problem that there’s more going on in Shaw’s wardrobe than between her sheets.

Nonetheless, “Marked Men: Rule + Shaw” is colorful and stimulating in a very basic, here-is-something-shiny way. Kind of like a lava lamp, which similarly offers sinuous ill-defined blobs floating around sans tangible narrative or psychological impetus. Perhaps Jay Crownover’s fans will be able to supply those elements from their memories of the books. Anyone else is likely to emerge unharmed, if a little bewildered that these good-looking but skin-deep figures merited feature treatment.

Though advertised under its full name, the film’s onscreen title at the beginning and end is simply “Marked Men.” Should you find snowy Denver looks less than familiar, that may well be because the entire U.S. production was shot in Sofia, Bulgaria.

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