‘Elle’ review: It’s not ‘Legally Blonde,’ but you’ll have a good time
Advertised as “from the world of ‘Legally Blonde,’” the new Prime Video series “Elle” revisits that film’s heroine, Elle Woods (Lexi Minetree), as a 16-year-old high school student, suddenly transported from Beverly Hills to Seattle after her plastic surgeon father (Tom Everett Scott) botches a nose job and has to lie low.
Set in 1995, six years before the events of the first “Legally Blonde” film, with Seattle still living through the long tail of first-wave grunge — Kurt Cobain, Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell are mentioned almost in a single breath — it shares with the big-screen mothership only its indomitable protagonist, who loves pink and her Chihuahua, Bruiser. (The dog gets its own origin story: It was “rescued” from the Spellings, as in Aaron, who found that its “earth tones” didn’t match “their new color palette.”)
There’s a passing reference to the lawyer Elle might (and does) become, and surely some things I missed, but if you’ve never seen “Legally Blonde,” you will not be at any particular disadvantage. (Possibly you will be at a disadvantage if you have seen it.) Bruiser aside, nothing that happens here affects what happens there. Don’t think twice, or even once, about canon. This is something else entirely.
What that is is a high school comedy, which is to say it’s full of familiar characters swept up in teenage drama. And because this is an eight-episode series and not a two-hour movie, relationships will shift more than once. Indeed, they will not be done shifting by the season’s end; a second is clearly in the producers’ sights.
The series is a fish out of water story as Elle moves from Beverly Hills to Seattle. From left, Kimberly (Chandler Kinney), Liz (Gabrielle Policano), Elle (Lexi Minetree), Miles (Jacob Moskovitz) and Dustin (Zac Looker).
(Kimberley French / Prime Video)
Floating into her new school on a bubble of positivity that will stubbornly refuse to burst, Elle is a spot of color in a sea of black and plaid. (There’s a joke that all the cliques — “jocks, D&D nerds, stoners, kids with parents with Microsoft money, kids with parents with Boeing money” — dress exactly alike.) Her surface mistaken for her substance, she’s mocked by Kimberley (Chandler Kinney), the Mean Queen Bee in a reversal of the usual dynamic; it’s the supposedly deep, authentic characters looking down on the privileged, seemingly shallow one. (Not understanding that Bikini Kill is a band, Elle will offer, “Bikini Kill? I know bikinis … that kill.”) Introducing herself to the skeptical Liz (Gabrielle Policano), who makes music and works in a record store, she says, “I like iced coffee, the month of July and when people dress kind of tennis-y, even when they don’t play tennis.”
At the same time, Elle will quickly bond with Shannon (Danielle Chand), the school’s self-appointed one-woman welcoming committee, and Miles (Jacob Moskovitz), a central-casting nice guy who literally collides with her, as is traditional. (His jacket is blue denim to set him apart.) Socially aware quasi-outsider Dustin (Zac Looker) will take a second longer to sway. Inevitably, all will fall before her goodness, her school spirit and her No Doubt karaoke, though her good intentions will have unintended consequences as well, and she’ll have things to learn — it’s a fish out of water story in which the water will change the fish, and the fish the water. In a late-season plotline, in order to give them something to think about than one another, they’ll become a Scooby Gang (with explicit references to “The Breakfast Club”), investigating adult shenanigans. Well, we love a Scooby Gang.
Chief among the grown-ups is Elle’s equally blond mother, Eva (June Diane Raphael), who will become involved in the mayoral campaign of (the late) James Van Der Beek’s Dean Wilson. At school, there are prickly Principal Anderson (Matt Oberg) and Donna (Amy Pietz, nice to see her), his good-hearted secretary, a champion of needy teens and, it will be revealed, Liz’s mother. It feels wrong to saddle the lovable Scott, as Elle’s father, Wyatt, with a fugitive-from-malpractice plot, such as it is — they had to get the family out of Beverly Hills somehow — and just as his character is lying low, so does he disappear, sadly, a little into the scenery. He does get a nice line about meeting someone named Mike McCready, the Pearl Jam guitarist, in a coffee shop and maybe getting together to play, and a chance to lead partygoers in Oasis’ “Wonderwall.”
Minetree is an apt choice to play a younger Reese Witherspoon (an executive producer), with a dash of “Clueless” Alicia Silverstone stirred in, and the younger cast is likable across the board. Written by Laura Kittrell, “Elle” is lightweight, often obvious and oddly, refreshingly innocent — Elle is waiting for “a perfect first kiss from a perfect guy” — both for the genre and the setting. (As Robyn Hitchcock sang of Seattle in “Viva! Sea-Tac,” “They’ve got the best computers and coffee and smack.”) In a way, it feels like a show made for those who already want what it’s selling, but that’s not me, and I had a perfectly fine time.
