Netflix’s dating-show bait-and-switch lands a rom-com with bite
A dating contest in Paris that isn’t in Paris? That’s the hook of The Wrong Paris, Netflix’s new romantic comedy that drops a reality-TV concept into small-town Texas and lets the sparks—and the satire—fly. Miranda Cosgrove steps into grown-up rom-com territory as Dawn, a diner waitress and metalsmithing sculptor who gets into an art school in France but can’t afford to go. Her workaround: audition for a hit reality dating show, collect the appearance fee, and tap out. Easy money, right?
Not quite. The supposed Paris backdrop turns out to be Paris, Texas—less croissants and Carrousel du Louvre, more cattle guards and pickup trucks—just an hour from her own hometown. That rug-pull is the film’s central gag, but it doubles as a character test. Dawn suddenly has to play reality-star politics in a place she thought she’d left behind, surrounded by camera-ready contestants who came to win, not wink at the premise.
The competition is stacked with types anyone who’s doom-scrolled dating TV will recognize. There’s Lexi (Madison Pettis), the ruthless influencer who treats love like an algorithm, and Jasmine (Christin Park), a genuine brainiac who offsets the show’s glossy chaos with actual heart. Then there’s the bachelor himself, Trey McAllen III (Pierson Fodé)—a polished rancher with a jawline built for confessionals and a flirty history with Dawn from days earlier. The twist isn’t just geographic; it’s emotional. Dawn planned to take the $20,000, get booted in episode one, and bankroll her Paris dream. Now the exit ramp isn’t so obvious.
Director Janeen Damian, teaming with writer Nicole Henrich, plays the dating-show genre straight just long enough to send it up. You get the mansion stand-ins, the group dates engineered for friendly sabotage, the late-night producer whispers that nudge contestants toward better TV. But the movie never sneers. It winks. The show-within-the-movie, The Honey Pot, is equal parts candy and critique—an affectionate roast of a format that’s become a streaming machine.
Cosgrove anchors it with a lived-in performance—still charming, less slapstick. For viewers who know her from iCarly and voice work in Despicable Me, this is a clean pivot: a character who’s messy in adult ways, weighing debt, ambition, and the pull of a maybe-relationship that arrived at the wrong time in the wrong Paris. Early audience chatter has highlighted her chemistry with Fodé, and the pair finds an easy rhythm that sells both the banter and the second-guessing.
The ensemble does the heavy lifting you want from a rom-com. Frances Fisher brings steel and warmth as Birdie, the kind of small-town matriarch who can read a room and a person in a single glance. Yvonne Orji’s Rachel mines humor from producer logic—the delicate art of nudging reality toward plot. Torrance Coombs (Carl) and Hannah Stocking (Eve) round out the on-set orbit, filling the world around the show with a believable production hum.
The film was shot in Vancouver and Agassiz, British Columbia across September and October 2024, doubling as Texas—a familiar cost-and-weather play that keeps schedules predictable and budgets sane. The Western vistas and small-town storefronts read on screen, and that matters: the Paris, Texas joke would fall flat if the place didn’t feel like an actual community. Production leans into textures—neon diner lights, dusty sunset pastures, workshop sparks—so the setting isn’t just a punchline; it’s the point.
Behind the scenes, Brad Krevoy’s MPCA banner produces alongside Michael Damian. If that combo sounds familiar, it’s because the team has quietly built a cottage industry out of comfort viewing—from holiday romances to lighthearted Netflix hits. That lineage shows. The Wrong Paris is cleanly built, brisk, and engineered to play worldwide without cultural homework.
Netflix is positioning the film as a scripted echo of the streamer’s own unscripted juggernauts. If Love Is Blind and Too Hot to Handle gave audiences a taste for engineered romance, this movie turns that taste into a plot engine. It’s meta without being smug: yes, it pokes fun at the confessionals and producer meddling, but it also gives fans what they came for—meet-cute tension, rivals to roll your eyes at, and the steady hum of will-they-won’t-they.
Early response tracks in the “pleasantly surprised” zone. The movie sits at 6.3/10 on IMDb from 600-plus user ratings—solid for a streaming rom-com that isn’t tied to an existing franchise. The most consistent praise? Cosgrove and Fodé’s rapport, and a tone that keeps its elbows sharp without going mean. The knocks tend to be the ones you’d expect: familiar beats, tidy resolutions. That’s also the comfort-food promise that lands these titles in the Top 10 rows.
There’s a quieter through-line that gives the comedy some ballast: money. Dawn’s plan to monetize a first-episode exit says the quiet part loud about the reality-TV economy. For a lot of contestants, the “pay” isn’t love or fame; it’s fees, a social bump, and a temporary runway to something else. Framing that as an artist trying to fund school makes the question human: how far do you game a system to get where you want to go?
That dovetails with the Paris-versus-Paris joke. France is the fantasy: ateliers, galleries, a clean slate. Paris, Texas is the reality: family ties, jobs, compromises, and people who remember who you were before you curated a persona. The movie nudges Dawn—and by extension, the audience—to ask what success looks like when the postcard version is out of reach. Sometimes the detour forces you to decide whether the dream is the place or the work.
Tonally, the film keeps the pace high—more quips than speeches—with enough air to let the romantic beats land. The dating-show scaffolding supplies a reliable rhythm: group chaos, one-on-one intimacy, next-rose jitters. That structure gives the filmmakers a playground for small reversals, including the simple suspense of whether Dawn will stick to the plan or give in to the feelings that plan was designed to avoid.
For Cosgrove, this is a clean step into adult leads that aren’t built on nostalgia alone. She plays Dawn as capable and self-protective, with flashes of impatience that feel earned. For Fodé, the bachelor role dodges the himbo trap just enough—competent, grounded, and just vulnerable enough to make the choice complicated. The pair benefits from writing that doesn’t drown them in irony.
The supporting turns matter. Lexi’s influencer edge isn’t just a villain note; it’s a peek at how metrics drive behavior when love becomes content. Jasmine’s “sweet genius” label gives the show a heart and a foil—proof that sincerity can survive the format, even if it has to outpace the edits. Those dynamics mirror what viewers yell at their screens during real dating shows: who’s here for clout, who’s here for love, and who’s here for the per diem.
If you track the business side, The Wrong Paris sits in the center lane of Netflix’s rom-com strategy: warm tone, clear hook, global readability, and enough genre self-awareness to feel fresh without scaring off casual viewers. It also adds to the studio’s ongoing experiment of blending its unscripted audience with scripted projects that speak the same language. It’s cross-pollination by design.
Key players at a glance:
- Director: Janeen Damian
- Writer: Nicole Henrich
- Producers: Brad Krevoy (MPCA), Michael Damian
- Cast: Miranda Cosgrove (Dawn), Pierson Fodé (Trey McAllen III), Madison Pettis (Lexi), Christin Park (Jasmine), Frances Fisher (Birdie), Yvonne Orji (Rachel), Torrance Coombs (Carl), Hannah Stocking (Eve)
- Filming: Vancouver and Agassiz, British Columbia (Sept–Oct 2024)
- Setting: Paris, Texas (and the idea of Paris, France)
- Release: September 12, 2025, on Netflix
One more note on the show-within-the-show: naming it The Honey Pot is a gag with edges. In internet slang, a honeypot lures targets into a trap. The movie uses that double meaning to keep the stakes light but pointed—the contestants think they’re chasing love; the show is chasing moments. Dawn enters chasing tuition. Who gets what they came for is the question that carries you to the last act.
The craft is quietly sturdy. The Texas-by-way-of-British Columbia look feels sun-baked, not sterile. Wardrobe leans playful—sequins and boots for the show, denim and work aprons for Dawn’s shop life—to underline the identity split she’s trying to manage. Editing keeps the unscripted rhythm without gimmicks: quick confessionals, reaction shots, just enough b-roll to sell the setting.
As for where it sits in the streamer’s library, slide it next to the feel-good romances that spike on weekends and holidays. It won’t rewrite the rom-com rulebook, but that isn’t the assignment. The assignment is cozy, clever, and rewatchable—ideal for viewers who love dating shows but are happy to have the edges softened, the jokes sharpened, and the ending engineered to satisfy.
By release weekend, the film’s word of mouth has centered on two things: the clean, high-concept twist that’s easy to pitch to a friend, and Cosgrove proving she can shoulder a lead without leaning on nostalgia. If that combo holds, expect it to linger in the trending rows and quietly build the kind of following that keeps Netflix ordering more comfort watches with a slight bite.