The queen of aspirational kitchens and perfectly imperfect love stories is officially back. Nancy Meyers—yes, the Nancy Meyers who taught us that 3,000-square-foot Hamptons houses cure heartbreak and that every kitchen needs a Sub-Zero the size of a studio apartment—has ended her self-imposed hiatus. On Tuesday morning, the 74-year-old filmmaker took to Instagram with a sun-dappled selfie from what looks suspiciously like a Nancy Meyers kitchen (warm wood, fresh peonies, impossible natural light) and wrote: “Coffee’s on, ovens are pre-heating, and so am I. New rom-com. 2027. See you at the breakfast bar.” Cue collective swoon from every millennial who still worships Something’s Gotta Give and can quote the brownie-batter scene verbatim.
It’s been a decade since Meyers last graced us with a feature—2015’s The Intern, the gentle generational buddy comedy that quietly grossed $195 million and reminded us that Anne Hathaway can make even a ergonomic desk chair look chic. Since then, she’s been chilling in her signature neutral-toned bubble: developing a scrapped Netflix project, fielding (and politely declining) reboot offers, and posting the occasional pastry pic that sends Reddit into a frenzy. But Hollywood’s most beloved aesthete of affluence never really left; she’s just been marinating like a good brisket. Now, per multiple sources close to the director, Meyers has closed a deal with Sony’s TriStar label for a 2027 theatrical release, a mid-seven-figure directing fee, final cut, and—get ready for this—an unprecedented $80 million production budget for a character-driven romantic comedy. In a streaming era where mid-budget movies are treated like relics, that number is practically a unicorn wrapped in cashmere.
What We Know (and What’s Still Under the Linen Tea Towel)
Details are locked tighter than the cookie jar in It’s Complicated, but insiders tell me the working title is Plus One. The story follows a recently divorced Silicon Valley exec (early chatter favors Oscar-winner Michelle Williams, though reps won’t confirm) who hires a charming but chronically under-employed British expat—think Dev Patel or Rufus Sewell in a renaissance phase—to pose as her wedding date for a season of Hamptons nuptials. Cue escalating lies, beach bonfires, and at least one rain-soaked declaration beneath a vintage cabana. Meyers apparently cracked the script during lockdown, rewriting a 2008 spec she’d shelved because, back then, studios balked at a 50-something female lead who wasn’t chasing babies or ghosts. Times finally caught up to her.
Filming is eyeing a late-2025 start, partly to accommodate Meyers’ insistence on shooting during real East-Coast summer (she wants hydrangeas at peak bloom, naturally) and partly because the production designer needs eight months to source “the perfect vintage AGA stove.” Locations will span Montauk, a restored firehouse in DUMBO, and a yet-to-be-built eco-smart house that’s already triggering bidding wars among tech millionaires who want to buy it post-wrap. Expect Meyers’ signature tactile fetishism: reclaimed marble, hand-thrown pottery, sweaters draped like they’re posing for a still life. One crew member joked that the director’s mood board is just 400 Pinterest pins of Ina Garten laughing with a glass of rosé.
Why Studios Are Betting Big on Nancy Again
Let’s be honest: the rom-com has spent the last ten years looking like it got ghosted. Apart from the occasional streaming gem (Palm Springs, The Idea of You), the genre has been relegated to algorithmic filler—thin premises, thinner budgets, and even thinner cultural impact. Enter Meyers, whose films have grossed a combined $1.3 billion globally and never stopped selling scented-candle levels of comfort on cable. Sony’s gamble isn’t nostalgia; it’s math. Research the studio commissioned last fall shows the 25-44 demographic—Meyers’ sweet spot—has re-emerged as the most reliable theatrical ticket-buyers post-pandemic, and they’re craving escapism that doesn’t involve capes or multiverses. Add in a soundtrack of reimagined standards (expect Diana Krall and Harry Styles duetting on “The Way You Look Tonight”) and you’ve got date-night catnip.
There’s also a prestige play. With Apple and Amazon throwing hundred-million-dollar checks at auteurs, traditional studios need event packages that can compete for awards and box office. Meyers—who’s never walked away without at least a Golden Globe nomination for her screenplay—delivers both: glossy commerce with just enough emotional texture to court Oscar voters in a weak year. Industry whispers say Sony is already eyeing a Thanksgiving 2027 corridor, the same launchpad that turned Knives Out into a crowd-pleasing juggernaut. And if the film lands, insiders predict a domino effect: a Meyers-verse resurgence, green-lit spec scripts about forty-something desire, and—dare we dream—studio executives finally remembering that women over 35 buy movie tickets too.
The $80 Million Question: Why Studios Are Betting Big on Comfort Cinema
Let’s talk numbers, because this budget is making even seasoned executives spill their oat-milk lattes. Eighty million for a rom-com in 2024 isn’t just bold—it’s practically revolutionary. To put it in perspective, Crazy Rich Asians cost $30 million and required actual private-island location shoots. Meyers’ last film, The Intern, came in around $35 million and still managed to make Diane Keaton’s kitchen look like a Architectural Digest fever dream.
So where’s all this cash going? Sources whisper Meyers is building two full-scale houses on soundstages—one in Santa Monica, one in the Hamptons—because apparently location scouting is for peasants now. She’s also reuniting with her longtime production designer Kristi Zea, and together they’re reportedly sourcing vintage Viking ranges from estate sales across Connecticut. The woman is creating a cinematic universe of kitchen porn, and Sony is absolutely here for it.
But here’s the real tea: studios have finally cracked the code that Meyers’ aesthetic is intellectual property unto itself. Her films don’t just tell stories; they sell a lifestyle that millennials—now hitting their peak earning years—will pay premium prices to experience. In an era where superhero fatigue is real and streaming platforms are hemorrhaging money, Meyers represents the safest bet in town: comfort food cinema with merchandising potential. Expect Williams-Sonoma collabs, Pottery Barn collections, and probably a coffee-table book titled Nancy Meyers Kitchens: A Love Story.
The Casting Carousel: Who Gets to Wear the Cashmere This Time?
The Hollywood rumor mill is working overtime, and let me tell you, every agent from CAA to UTA is practically camping outside Meyers’ Brentwood office. The role everyone wants? The male lead, described in leaked casting notices as “George Clooney meets Stanley Tucci, but make it sexy-divorcé-who-owns-a-vineyard energy.” Sources tell me Meyers has already met with everyone from Oscar Isaac (too brooding) to Paul Rudd (too perennially 35) to finally settling on… well, she’s not telling anyone yet, but my money’s on someone who looks incredible in a cable-knit sweater.
For the female lead, insiders whisper she’s looking for “Meryl Streep’s warmth meets Sandra Bullock’s comedic timing, but with TikTok relevance.” Translation: someone who can make crying into a glass of chardonnay at 3 PM feel aspirational to Gen Z. Names floating around include Constance Wu (who already proved she can sell luxury porn), Reese Witherspoon (Meyers’ protégé and obvious choice), and shockingly, Selena Gomez—because apparently we’re living in a timeline where Gomez could be Meyers’ new muse.
The supporting cast is where it gets juicy. Meyers is reportedly writing a role specifically for Keanu Reeves as “the unexpectedly zen contractor who shows up to renovate the kitchen and ends up renovating hearts.” There’s also buzz about creating the first openly queer couple in a Meyers universe, with Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolph circling roles as “the best friends who met at a farmers’ market and now co-parent six chickens.”
The Meyers Formula: Evolution or Stagnation?
Here’s where I get controversial: Nancy Meyers doesn’t make movies about rich white people’s problems—she makes movies about specific rich white people’s problems that somehow feel universal because we’ve all wanted that kitchen. But 2027 isn’t 2003, and the question haunting every development meeting is whether Meyers’ brand of privileged escapism can survive in a post-pandemic, economically fractured world.
The answer, surprisingly, might be yes. Her secret sauce has never been about wealth—it’s about control. Her characters don’t just have perfect houses; they have perfect systems for dealing with chaos. In a world where we’re all one tweet away from existential dread, the fantasy isn’t the Sub-Zero fridge; it’s the idea that you could host a dinner party where nobody mentions crypto or politics, and everyone leaves feeling emotionally fulfilled.
Sources close to the script say Plus One secretly tackles modern anxieties: the gig economy, dating apps, the crushing weight of maintaining Instagram perfection. The twist? Meyers’ characters solve these problems the way they always have—through real estate, good lighting, and the healing power of preparing elaborate meals while wearing expensive loungewear. It’s escapism with a wink, comfort food that knows exactly what it’s doing.
The real genius move? Releasing in 2027 means hitting theaters during peak millennial nostalgia cycle. We’ll be exactly 20 years from The Holiday and 15 from It’s Complicated, positioned for the ultimate comfort-food renaissance. Meyers isn’t just making a movie; she’s timing the market like Warren Buffett with a better kitchen.
Final Take: Why This Matters More Than You Think
Look, I’ve covered this town for fifteen years, and I’ve seen trends come and go faster than you can say “toxic bachelor.” But Nancy Meyers returning now, with this budget, in this climate? It’s not just news—it’s a cultural event. She’s the rare filmmaker whose name above the title still means something to audiences who’ve forgotten what it’s like to leave their houses for entertainment.
In an era where algorithms determine content and every movie feels focus-grouped into oblivion, Meyers represents the last of a dying breed: the auteur who trusts her gut, her aesthetic, and her audience’s desire for something beautiful and emotionally honest. She makes movies the way Ina Garten makes roast chicken—impeccably, with zero apologies, and with the implicit understanding that sometimes the most radical act is choosing joy.
So mark your calendars for 2027. Not because you need to see another romantic comedy, but because we all need to remember what it feels like when movies loved us back. And if that experience comes with a kitchen that costs more than most people’s houses? Well, that’s just the Meyers guarantee. Pass the brownie batter and bring on the escapism—we’ve earned it.