Talent, as we know by now, can come from anywhere. One needs no pedigree to possess a gift for performance—just the gift itself, and the right circ*mstances. It’s a quality that’s almost palpable: talent scouts call it “it” factor or “star power.” Critics use words like subtlety, humor, and grace. Admittedly, these appraisals can feel arbitrary and imperfect. But watching He’s All That, a gender-swapped remake of the teen rom-com She’s All That with TikTok powerhouse Addison Rae, you feel the encroachment of algorithmic popularity on traditional media—a metric that may be more democratic than the old ways, but feels less well-suited to finding genuine stars.
Rae does a serviceable job playing a working-class high school student who also happens to be a very popular Instagram influencer, specializing in makeovers. Still, while the 20 year-old may have over 80 million followers in real life, she lacks presence on a screen bigger than an iPhone. Plenty of actors who didn’t attend conservatories or come from acting families have excelled in film and TV. But the translation from social media to major media seems to go more smoothly in the music industry. Cardi B popped off on Instagram before transitioning to reality TV and becoming a big shot rapper; Justin Bieber was a YouTube sensation, as were Chloe and Halle Bailey. (Halle will take on her first movie role as Ariel in Disney’s upcoming live action remake of The Little Mermaid.) Another YouTube sensation, music-driven comedian Bo Burnham, has acted, but he’s more notable for writing and directing Eighth Grade and his recent Netflix special Inside. And at the center of both of those projects is Burnham’s critique of the shallowness of social media performance.
He’s All That, though, won’t convince many people that Rae can be a star outside of TikTok. She plays Padgett, a hyper-femme straight girl with a very androgynous name who does a bad thing but has a pretty good reason for doing it.
Padgett’s college fund depends on her influencer sponsorship. (Kourtney Kardashian makes a hilariously stiff cameo as the founder of the company that sponsors her.) But when Padgett’s blowhard boyfriend Jordan (Peyton Meyer) cheats on her and Padgett is caught on her live Instagram feed throwing baked goods at him and his side piece in retaliation, she inexplicably loses thousands of followers, her reputation, and the promise of attending an overpriced university. So she makes a bet with her shady friend, another hyper-femme straight girl with an androgynous name, Alden (Madison Pettis): Pagdett will make over some loser guy, and he’ll become prom king, or else. Her sponsor agrees that if she pulls this off, she’ll have her deal, and thus her college fund, back. Of course, the boy they pick is already obviously attractive: Cameron Kweller, played by Cobra Kai actor Tanner Buchanan in a bad wig and improbable five-o-clock shadow. Cameron is a moody, antisocial photographer who’s smarter than all the superficial idiots at school. His lesbian best friend Nisha (a funny and expressive Annie Jacob) just wants him to lighten up, man.
I’m already biased towards these characters, because I myself was the queer girl at school who was friends with the sad straight boys. But it can’t be denied that Buchanan and Jacob (along with Isabella Covetti, as Cameron’s little sister Brin) carry much of the film, filling in the gaps that Rae leaves with her glimmering, vacant smiles. There’s nothing about this hot girl that makes you think Cameron would be won over by her deep soul. The writers try to put it in the script—Padgett can name drop Ansel Adams and is, uh, a good singer and peppy dancer, thus impressing this indie freak she must swiftly transform into a dashing dime piece. But Rae doesn’t sell the thin characterization with a grabbing performance. She does a static impression of charm, not the real, dynamic, undeniable thing.
The film unintentionally functions as an argument for using some (hugely improved) version of gatekeeping to identify talent for commercial films, rather than letting the highest follower count win the day. Disney and Nickelodeon stars, for example—who started in show business by hustling as children—tend to emerge from their crucible as terrifyingly charismatic and skilled performers. Ariana Grande, Kenan Thompson, Selena Gomez, Miley Cyrus, Keke Palmer, Zendaya, Britney Spears, and Justin Timberlake—I could go on. These aren’t merely commercially popular actors and singers with huge social media followings; they are showbiz powerhouses with serious chops. Amanda Bynes elevated several post-She’s All That teen movies, from What a Girl Wants to She’s the Man to Easy A, with exceptional timing and physical comedy. Grande doesn’t just sing well, she’s also a master of impressions—Legally Blonde and White Lotus star Jennifer Coolidge happens to be a big fan—and Succession’s Kieran Culkin and True Blood’s Anna Paquin, both former child stars, were featured in smaller supporting roles in She’s All That itself. The depth of their talent is plain to see. We can be critical of the terrible systems these performers had to labor under as minors without denying that the studios were right to elevate them.
In fact, She’s All That star Rachel Leigh Cook also appears in the remake: she plays Padgett’s mother, a hardworking nurse appropriately flummoxed by, if sympathetic to, her daughter’s entire situation. Cook is very good here, somehow making an underwritten side character more compelling than the main ones. She provides a master class in leveling up the frivolous fare that is most teen blockbusters. No one expects most of these films to reach the heights of Amy Heckerling’s Clueless, Peyton Reed’s and Jessica Bendiger’s Bring It On, or screenwriting duo Karen McCullah and Kirsten Smith’s 10 Things I Hate About You. But the hope is that skillful performers will make tired formulas feel fresh.
Rae, who boasts a magnetic draw on social media that I, an old person by Gen Z standards, cannot quite make sense of, has so far not emerged as an acting talent.
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