In the rolling hills of rural Tennessee, where gospel hymns mingle with the hum of cicadas, Ruth & Boaz unfurls as a soul-stirring modern retelling of one of the Bible’s most tender love stories—a tale of loss, loyalty, and love that blooms not in grand gestures, but in quiet acts of kindness. Directed by Alanna Brown and executive produced by Tyler Perry and DeVon Franklin, the film stars Serayah McNeill as the grieving Ruth and Tyler Lepley as the steadfast Boaz, transforming the ancient Book of Ruth into a heartfelt drama laced with faith, bluesy soundtracks, and Perry’s signature blend of tears and triumph. Premiering globally on Netflix on September 26, 2025, it has since climbed to the streamer’s Top 10 in 28 countries, drawing 15 million views in its first week and sparking a wave of faith-based buzz on X, where fans hail it as “the rom-com Christians have been praying for.” As October unfolds, with autumn leaves mirroring the story’s themes of renewal, Ruth & Boaz stands as a poignant reminder: Sometimes, the right love doesn’t rescue you—it helps you rise, one root at a time.

The biblical Ruth, a Moabite widow who pledges unwavering devotion to her mother-in-law Naomi (“Where you go, I will go”), has inspired countless sermons and adaptations, from 1940s Hollywood epics to Broadway musicals. Perry and Franklin’s vision transplants this narrative to contemporary America, infusing it with Southern soul and subtle social commentary. Ruth Moably (McNeill), a 28-year-old R&B sensation on the cusp of stardom in Atlanta’s glittering clubs, is shattered by the sudden death of her husband and the subsequent loss of her mother-in-law, Naomi (Phylicia Rashad). With her music career stalled by grief and a crumbling support system, Ruth honors Naomi’s final wish: returning to the widow’s humble Tennessee roots, a vineyard-dotted town where faith communities knit tight against the world’s fray.

There, amid the dusty pews of a small church and the sun-baked rows of a struggling winery, Ruth rebuilds. She takes a job as a grape picker at the family-owned vineyard, where she encounters Boaz (Lepley), the 35-year-old owner burdened by debt, isolation, and the ghosts of a war-torn past as a former Marine. Boaz, with his MBA and quiet charisma, isn’t the flawless savior of scripture but a man wrestling with his own scars—fatherless since youth, he’s poured his heart into the land, echoing the biblical kinsman-redeemer’s role of protector and provider. Their paths cross in serendipitous moments: Ruth’s soulful hymn at a community service catches his ear; a shared glance over harvest baskets sparks curiosity. What begins as compassionate gestures—Boaz ensuring Ruth has fresh water and shade—evolves into late-night porch talks laced with vulnerability, where grief gives way to grace.

McNeill, 29 and known for her fierce turn in Empire, imbues Ruth with a raw authenticity that’s equal parts fire and fragility. Her rendition of original tracks like “Roots of Redemption,” co-written with Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds (who cameos as a mentor figure), pulses with gospel-blues fusion—think H.E.R. meets Mahalia Jackson—scoring intimate scenes with a soundtrack that’s already Spotify’s top faith playlist addition, boasting 8 million streams. Lepley, 38 and a Harlem alum, channels Boaz’s depth with understated intensity; his portrayal avoids the alpha-male trope, opting for a gentle strength that earned him praise at the September 22 Atlanta premiere, where he told Variety, “Boaz isn’t chasing Ruth—he’s meeting her where she is, like faith does.” Rashad, 76 and an Emmy legend, steals scenes as Naomi, her portrayal of bitter widowhood evolving into wise counsel a masterclass in emotional layers—critics call it “the film’s beating heart.”

At 92 minutes, the film leans into Perry’s hallmark: swift pacing, trope-heavy twists (a scheming ex and financial sabotage add mild conflict), and a redemptive arc that prioritizes healing over high drama. Screenwriters Michael Elliot (Brown Sugar) and Cory Tynan (Play’d) weave biblical fidelity—Ruth gleaning fields, Boaz’s kinsman offer—with modern grit: Ruth confronts racism in Atlanta’s industry, Boaz grapples with PTSD through prayer vigils. The gospel-blues score, featuring Jermaine Dupri’s production and cameos from Kirk Franklin, elevates the romance; a vineyard waltz to an acoustic “Take Root” has audiences misty-eyed. Filmed at Perry’s Atlanta studios and Tennessee vineyards from October to November 2024, it captures the South’s verdant beauty, with cinematographer Pierre Messier framing root metaphors in every shot—from tangled family trees to budding vines.

This marks the kickoff of a multiyear Netflix deal between Perry Studios, Franklin (a preacher-producer behind Breakthrough), and the streamer, aimed at faith-forward fare amid a “polarizing world,” as Perry put it. “DeVon and I want to spread good,” Perry said at Essence Fest 2025, where the project was announced to cheers. Early reception? Solid but split: Christianity Today lauded its “Tennessee wine flows freely” vibe but critiqued Boaz’s “too-perfect” polish (5.9/10 on IMDb). The New York Times called it a “minuet of trauma and triumph,” praising Rashad but noting the “hurried love story.” Religion Unplugged highlighted its frank nods to abuse and racism, a bold stroke for faith films, though it leans on Perry tropes like spectacle over subtlety. On X, #RuthAndBoaz trends with 200K posts, fans sharing “shed tears” reactions and vineyard selfies.

For a genre often dismissed as preachy, Ruth & Boaz resonates by grounding its message in resilience: Ruth’s arc from lounge singer to self-assured artist mirrors real Black women’s journeys in music, while Boaz’s loneliness speaks to veteran isolation. It’s not without flaws—rushed pacing and predictable redemption—but its tenderness shines, especially in a church scene where Ruth harmonizes with the choir, symbolizing community as love’s fertile soil. As Naomi narrates in the trailer, “Every love story starts with truth… and sometimes tragedy,” a line that’s become a mantra for viewers navigating their own roots.

In Perry’s canon—A Jazzman’s Blues, Mea Culpa—this stands as a gentler entry, less bombastic than Madea, more meditative than Divorce in the Black. Streaming now, it’s ideal for October’s harvest mood, pairing well with a glass of Tennessee red. Whether you’re a biblical buff or romance devotee, Ruth & Boaz whispers: True love isn’t a whirlwind—it’s the steady rain that helps you rise. 🌾