Maintenance Required – Film Review

Lacey Uhlemeyer’s Maintenance Required is the kind of romantic comedy that wears its grease-stained heart on its sleeve. With its mechanic shop setting, anonymous-online-romance twist, and warm performances from Madelaine Petsch and Jacob Scipio, it aims to blend the cozy charm of a Hallmark-style workplace romance with the wit and texture of an indie dramedy. It’s a film that hums with sincerity, but occasionally stalls when its screenplay overreaches or its humor runs out of gas. Still, for a debut that attempts to infuse a classic opposites-attract premise with grounded emotional beats, Maintenance Required proves watchable, pleasant, and intermittently insightful—just not quite as finely tuned as it wants to be.

The first thing that sets Maintenance Required apart is its unique backdrop. Instead of a bakery, bookstore, or art gallery, Uhlemeyer sets her romantic comedy in a working-class mechanic shop—a refreshing change that allows for both physical comedy and thematic grit. Madelaine Petsch plays Charlie, the headstrong owner of an all-female auto repair business that has become a minor local sensation. Charlie’s operation thrives on community loyalty, female empowerment, and a no-nonsense ethos that Petsch embodies with natural charisma.

However, her steady world is thrown into disarray when a new, high-tech corporate repair chain opens directly across the street, helmed by the slick and charming Beau (Jacob Scipio). Their rivalry begins with billboard wars and social media spats, but the film’s central irony—and its emotional tension—arises when Charlie unknowingly starts venting about her new business woes to an anonymous online confidant who turns out to be Beau himself.

Uhlemeyer stages this reveal with deft comedic timing, using montage, text exchanges, and clever cross-cutting to show both characters falling for their mysterious digital friend. The premise plays like a 21st-century spin on You’ve Got Mail, filtered through a blue-collar lens. What’s admirable is how Uhlemeyer uses the mechanic setting not merely as a gimmick but as a metaphor for personal upkeep and emotional restoration. The problem is that while the concept is sharp, the execution sometimes struggles to find a steady rhythm between romantic sincerity and workplace comedy.

Madelaine Petsch proves once again that she’s one of the more versatile young actors working today. After years of navigating between genre projects and small dramas, Maintenance Required gives her the opportunity to flex her comedic instincts without losing dramatic credibility. Her portrayal of Charlie feels grounded—sarcastic, guarded, and quietly yearning for connection beneath her confidence. Petsch plays the kind of lead who doesn’t need rescuing, and that’s refreshing; her vulnerability emerges naturally as the film progresses, especially in moments when her tough persona slips around her employees or during late-night chats with her online confidant.

Jacob Scipio, as Beau, brings a sly mix of charm and guilt to the role. His character could easily have been written as a one-note rival, but Scipio imbues him with genuine remorse and attraction once he realizes who he’s been messaging. Their chemistry builds gradually; the script smartly avoids rushing them into romance, instead allowing their banter to evolve from antagonistic to flirtatious, and eventually to something more tender.

Yet, despite the strong leads, the film sometimes falters in developing its supporting cast. Charlie’s team of mechanics—each brimming with personality—are introduced with enthusiasm but too often reduced to background players. They function primarily as comic relief or sounding boards, when the premise could have used their perspectives to deepen the film’s exploration of women in male-dominated industries.

Uhlemeyer’s direction demonstrates promise, with a clear affection for her characters and an eye for visual warmth. The cinematography, by Hamish Doyne-Ditmas, contrasts the sterile glow of Beau’s corporate shop with the cozy clutter of Charlie’s garage, creating a subtle commentary on authenticity versus commercialization. The film’s pacing, however, is inconsistent. Its first act hums with brisk, witty exchanges and strong setup, but the second act meanders as the emotional stakes blur beneath montages of romantic misunderstanding.

The online messaging sequences—stylized through floating text bubbles and split-screen visuals—initially add a dynamic spark, but by the midpoint, they begin to feel repetitive. Uhlemeyer tries to sustain dramatic irony, letting the audience in on the secret long before Charlie discovers it, but this structure results in a sluggish middle stretch. There’s a sense that the film doesn’t fully trust its own emotional momentum, often inserting extra scenes to underline points already made through subtext.

The humor also fluctuates. Some of the best laughs come from situational comedy, but several of the quippy exchanges feel overly polished, as though sanded down in post-production. When the film relaxes into its quieter moments, it finds a sincerity that’s genuinely affecting. Uhlemeyer clearly wants to balance laughter and longing, but her film occasionally shifts gears too abruptly between the two.

What gives Maintenance Required a touch more depth than your average romantic comedy is its thematic ambition. Charlie’s struggle isn’t just about love; it’s about identity. She’s built her business as a symbol of empowerment, but she’s also defined herself by her independence—so much so that she resists help even when it’s warranted. Her interactions with Beau, both online and off, challenge her belief that vulnerability equals weakness.

Uhlemeyer doesn’t frame this as a simple feminist-versus-capitalist dichotomy. Instead, she explores how ambition, pride, and emotional baggage can all interfere with intimacy. The metaphor of mechanical “maintenance” extends beyond cars to relationships: both require ongoing care, honesty, and the willingness to address hidden problems before they cause real damage.

The film’s ending—without giving anything away—opts for realism over fantasy. It’s not a fairy-tale finish, but a tentative truce between two people learning to balance competition and compassion. This choice reinforces Uhlemeyer’s grounded tone, though it may disappoint viewers expecting a grand, sweeping romantic payoff.

On a technical level, Maintenance Required is modest but polished. The production design makes Charlie’s garage feel lived-in and character-driven, filled with vintage posters, hand tools, and worn leather couches that tell a story of sweat equity and sisterhood. The soundtrack leans into alt-pop and indie folk tracks that complement the film’s working-class charm without feeling too twee.

Editing-wise, the film could benefit from a tighter cut. Several transitions linger a beat too long, especially in the final act, where emotional revelations are stretched over scenes that repeat the same emotional information. Still, Uhlemeyer’s attention to visual rhythm—lingering on close-ups of hands repairing engines or eyes catching across a crowded parking lot—reveals a filmmaker who understands how to express connection through texture and detail rather than exposition.

Maintenance Required is a romantic comedy that doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it gives it a spin with personality and sincerity. Lacey Uhlemeyer’s direction shows promise, even when her script sputters under the weight of its contrivances. Madelaine Petsch anchors the film with a performance that’s fiery and tender in equal measure, while Jacob Scipio complements her with warmth and grounded humor.

For every scene that drags, there’s another that hums with emotional clarity. The film’s charm lies not in its originality, but in its commitment to authenticity—its belief that even those who can fix anything sometimes need help fixing themselves.

A pleasant, lightly flawed rom-com that runs a little uneven but ultimately drives home a message worth hearing: every heart, like every engine, needs a little maintenance.