Maude Apatow’s directorial debut Poetic License is an intergenerational coming-of-age film about an aimless middle-aged wife and mother who comes into the lives of two college students with problems of their own. When her husband (Method Man) accepts a position as an economics professor at a prestigious university, Liz (Leslie Mann) decides to audit a poetry class to fill her time while their daughter Dora (Nico Parker) starts her last year of high school. In a new town full of people she doesn’t know, Liz is floundering while both her husband and daughter quickly adjust and make new friends. When Sam (Andrew Barth Feldman) and Ari (Cooper Hoffman) meet her in poetry class, Liz becomes a romantic fixation for both of them. But Liz is oblivious to their feelings and the growing rivalry between the two for her attention and affection — she’s too busy obsessing over Dora and the looming realization that her daughter doesn’t need her as much anymore. 

As a former couples therapist, Liz immediately clocks the codependent relationship between Ari and Sam, spending time with them mainly because she’s intrigued by their dynamic. Ari is a rich kid who lives alone in a lavish apartment with no ambition beyond getting Sam to move in with him. But Sam would rather live in the dorms and be an RA, while working on his degree in economics. Sam also has a girlfriend (Maisy Stella) whose presence is a constant source of annoyance for Ari.

But both boys agree on Liz, asking for her advice and approval at every turn. She gives her time to them freely, simultaneously revisiting her youth while also acting as a parental figure. And despite her lack of confidence, Liz gives Sam and Ari some solid advice throughout their time together.

Mann, Hoffman and Feldman are clearly having a good time, and their comedic chemistry carries the film. But for the most part, Poetic License feels just as aimless as Liz, wandering from scene to scene without much of a vision. Each scene seems to end too quickly, not giving the characters and their dialogue enough space to breathe. Even in the emotional moments, the audience is never given time to sit with the meaning behind what’s being said. The scenes in the poetry class feel perfunctory, suggesting no real interest in writing, form or meter. The professor (Martha Kelly) never actually teaches her students anything, instead rambling about her ongoing divorce and conflicts with her soon to be ex-wife. Kelly is funny in the role, but she never feels like a poetry professor and there’s a sense that if the film had centered on just a regular creative writing class everything would have played out in the exact same way.

Nothing feels specific about Poetic License and all the details seem randomly chosen. “Poetry” and “economics” are portrayed like topics drawn out of a hat, with no real reasoning behind their inclusion in the narrative. We don’t know why Sam or Liz’s husband are into economics in the first place or what it means for both these characters to share an area of study. We also don’t know why Ari is taking the poetry class at all, or even what his major is.

The film’s script, written by Raffi Donatich, works best as an exploration of the troubled bonds between Ari, Sam, Liz and Dora. But everything around them comes off as superficial, with interchangeable details that only serve to set the scene. This gives the movie a generic quality, most obvious in the scenes involving Liz’s husband. Method Man seems lost in Poetic License, woefully miscast as a no-nonsense academic with no real personality to speak of. His role in Liz’s life functions as a built-in barrier to ensure that the film’s love triangle has no real romantic stakes. Parker fares a bit better as Liz’s level-headed daughter, even though her personality is just as ill-defined as her father’s. 

As a first-time director, Apatow shows some promise, especially in the tender scenes between Mann and Parker. Apatow shoots Mann with the eye of an adoring daughter, in awe of her mother’s seemingly effortless humor and warmth. The camera also loves Hoffman, who quietly steals the movie whenever he’s onscreen, giving dimension to a character who could so easily come off obnoxious.

Despite its shortcomings, Poetic License is a film with a big heart populated by talented actors genuinely having fun with their characters. It’s a shame, then, that the story begins to fade from memory as soon as the credits roll.