Ruth & Boaz Review: Finding Faith Between Atlanta and Tennessee

Every film has a geography, a sense of place that defines its characters. Sometimes it is the neon canyons of a metropolis, other times the quiet expanse of a rural landscape. Ruth & Boaz is a film built entirely on the tension between these two Americas.

It begins in the sleek, transactional world of the Atlanta music scene, a place of glass towers and manufactured desire. Here we meet Ruth, a young singer whose ambition is beginning to curdle into doubt, and Naomi, the formidable mother of her boyfriend, Marlon. Naomi sees Ruth as an unworthy addition to her affluent life.

Their politely hostile relationship is shattered when a sudden act of violence takes both Marlon and his father, forcing the two women into an alliance of grief. Stripped of wealth and status, they travel from the city that defined them to a dilapidated house in rural Tennessee, a journey that is less about miles covered and more about the vast, unfamiliar territory of their shared loss.

The Weight of Performance

The film’s dramatic structure rests on a foundation of three key performances, with Phylicia Rashad’s turn as Naomi serving as the unshakable bedrock. This is a role that requires a journey from icy condescension to the shattering rage of profound loss, and Rashad navigates it with a veteran’s precision.

Her performance has a theatrical quality, where a quiet, withering glance speaks volumes and a sudden outburst feels like a dam breaking. She elevates the material, making Naomi’s crisis of faith feel less like a plot point and more like a genuine spiritual unmooring. In contrast, Serayah’s work as Ruth is a study in transformation. Her initial portrayal as an R&B singer feels intentionally ill-fitting; the costumes and choreography seem like a persona she is trying on rather than inhabiting.

It is only when she is stripped of this artifice in Tennessee that the character, and the performance, truly begins to breathe. Her physicality changes, her posture less guarded, and her singing voice finds a raw, vulnerable quality that was absent in the polished Atlanta scenes.

Tyler Lepley’s Boaz is designed as a figure of stability. He subverts the expectation of the dynamic romantic lead, offering a quiet, gentle masculinity instead. Lepley’s performance is understated, providing a calm center around which the film’s more volatile emotions can orbit.

The Sound of a Shifting Soul

I often think of the way the Coen Brothers used traditional American folk music in O Brother, Where Art Thou? to create a world that felt both mythical and deeply authentic. Ruth & Boaz employs a similar strategy, using its soundtrack to chart its main character’s spiritual journey. The music of Atlanta is all synthetic beats and studio gloss, reflecting a world of surface-level success.

These songs feel hollow, designed for consumption rather than connection. The film’s sound design here is sharp, almost clinical. When the story moves to Tennessee, the entire auditory landscape changes. The music becomes rooted in acoustic instruments, heartfelt gospel harmonies, and the spontaneous energy of a church congregation. This shift is not merely aesthetic; it is thematic. It represents Ruth’s movement from a manufactured identity to an authentic one.

This portrait of faith is also central to the film’s cultural perspective. It presents a vision of American Christianity centered on community action and mutual support. When Naomi is at her lowest, the pastor and her old congregation appear not with platitudes, but with tools and lumber to fix her house. This depiction of faith as a practical, active force provides a texture and sincerity that sets the film apart from more secular mainstream dramas.

A Blueprint of Belief

The narrative of Ruth & Boaz follows a familiar path, one that operates less like a conventional three-act drama and more like a modern parable. Its structure is built for reassurance, not surprise. For audiences acquainted with faith-based filmmaking, this predictability is a feature, a ritualistic storytelling style where the message is the primary focus.

The plot points, from the clearly defined villain to the neatly resolved conflicts, arrive exactly when expected. This adherence to formula, however, contributes to a noticeable sag in the film’s middle section. After the powerful inciting tragedy, the narrative tension slackens into a long, contemplative stretch that slows the film’s momentum considerably. This structural choice most significantly impacts the titular romance.

The relationship between Ruth and Boaz feels more like a narrative requirement than an organic development. Their connection is sketched in with broad strokes and lacks the detailed, emotionally complex scenes that define the bond between Ruth and Naomi.

Theirs is the true central relationship, a story of two women from different generations finding common ground through immense hardship. This platonic love story is rendered with nuance and care, leaving the film’s intended romance feeling underdeveloped by comparison.

Ruth & Boaz is a modern retelling of the beloved biblical story from the Book of Ruth. The film is a faith-based romance produced by DeVon Franklin and Tyler Perry. It stars Serayah McNeill as Ruth Moably and Tyler Lepley as Boaz, alongside Phylicia Rashad as Naomi. The story centers on a rising Atlanta hip-hop artist who steps away from the spotlight to care for her boyfriend’s grieving mother in rural Tennessee, where she finds a fresh start and love. The film premiered on September 26, 2025, and is available to watch on the streaming platform Netflix.

Full Credits

Director: Alanna Brown

Writers: Michael Elliot, Cory Tynan

Producers and Executive Producers: DeVon Franklin, Tyler Perry, Angi Bones, Tony L. Strickland, Bart Lipton

Cast: Serayah McNeill, Tyler Lepley, Phylicia Rashad, Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds, Jermaine Dupri, Lecrae, Yung Joc, Nijah Brenea, Walnette Santiago, James Lee Thomas, Christopher Broughton

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Michael Negrin

Editors: Maysie Hoy

Composer: Kurt Farquhar