It's Not Like That

Rated TV-14 • Prime Video

It’s Not Like That is a new faith-based TV series that goes where Angel Studios fears to tread. From the producers of House of David at Wonder Project, the drama pushes the boundaries of Christian-themed programming, diving into divorce, midlife dating, parent-teen conflict, teen social anxiety, and ­behavioral disorders—you name it—all packed into each 50-minute episode. Yikes!

Then again, there’s value in a raw take on Christians by Christians, particularly as the directors limit sensuality and only include a few mildish expletives (in the four episodes I had available for review). But raw doesn’t mean unpolished: The cast brings solid résumés, including Scott Foley who (millennials might recall) played Noel, the main love interest of the titular character in Felicity. Foley is back for more main-love-interest duty as Pastor Malcolm, a widower who finds a listening ear—and maybe a pair of puckered lips—in recent divorcée Lori, played by Emmy-nominee Erinn Hayes. Lori also attends Malcolm’s church, lives on the same street he does, and was his deceased wife’s best friend. Did I already say, “Yikes!”?

From nice homes with no money worries, Malcolm and Lori are single-­parenting their kids, who themselves are dealing with loss, crushes, and bullying. Malcolm’s kids are also feeling the pressures of being PKs. Complicating matters further is the regular presence of Lori’s ex and Malcolm’s buddy, David (J.R. Ramirez, best known for his role as Det. Vasquez in the NBC hit Manifest). There are no claims of abuse or infidelity, but David bears most of the blame for his marriage’s failure. Still, he’s trying to be a good dad. One of the show’s strengths is avoiding caricatures: No one’s a saint, and no one’s a creep. The show’s writers don’t pretend families who pray together at the dinner table don’t get caught up in petty squabbles sometimes.

“I get no sympathy from [other women],” Lori complains to Malcolm. “They just want to gossip about me and rescue you.” Lori is not the only name on Malcolm’s social calendar, by the way. But just as viewers feel transported into an episode of The Bachelor, the faith expressions will throw them for a loop.

“In our church, we welcome all those who hold Jesus in their hearts,” Malcolm preaches. “My voice is deeply rooted in the enduring Word of God.”

While Malcolm’s sermons extol God’s grace, his behavior isn’t always worth imitating. He often meets Lori in his church office, his car, and elsewhere with no one else around. Once, Lori informs him over the phone, “I’m naked in my ex-husband’s bed. … Can you come over?” She’s dressed when he arrives, but the show treats these rendezvous as natural instead of reckless. And so I grew ambivalent about this potential pastor-parishioner Brady Bunch. The show is intended as a serious drama, but the tangled affaires de cœur seem as much 1970s sitcom as Shakespearean tragedy—although I might be won back if Malcolm stabs a hiding David through an arras in Lori’s chamber.

Are we like that or not like that? That is the question. An American church more consumed with dating apps than discipleship would be a tragedy. It’s even hard to find the upside in unbelieving viewers commending, “Maybe those Christians are just like us.” And what would our brethren in the church worldwide watching this show think of us? Yikes!