In purely box office terms, Zoey Deutch seems to resemble any number of fellow not-quite-ingenue actresses, like her semi-lookalike Haley Lu Richardson or her fellow nepo baby Emma Roberts. As with those performers, she’s been in some high-profile movies, like the big-studio comedy Why Him?, movies directed by Richard Linklater and Clint Eastwood, and the star-studded sequel Zombieland: Double Tap. But apart from that Zombieland follow-up — which had other selling points, most of them called the first Zombieland — she hasn’t really had much in the way of hits. Meaning, she’s not considered as prestigious or bankable as peers like Anya Taylor-Joy or Florence Pugh.

Yet Deutch seems to be having a moment, and with a genre that’s only starting to make its way back into the light. Her romantic comedy Voicemails for Isabelle is currently the number one movie on Netflix, and she’s got another, far sillier, sorta-romantic movie called Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass hitting theaters next month.

Voicemails for Isabelle is the more traditional play for a still-young actress, to be sure. It’s the kind of sappy, overlong rom-com that’s flourished on streaming ever since, well, Deutch herself starred in Set It Up, an earnest attempt at Netflix Screwball from 2018. Her costar there, Glen Powell, has gone on to bigger-scale projects in a way that Deutch, whether by choice or by luck, has not. But by sticking it out with another Netflix rom-com, she’s found a sappy, overlong one that’s also surprisingly charming, even affecting.

Deutch plays Jill, an aspiring baker — chefs and bakers being the girl version of architects — living in San Francisco and leaving plenty of tart voicemails for her homebound sister Isabelle, who has been sick with cystic fibrosis since they were kids. The two sisters are enormously close, and so when Isabelle passes away, Jill channels her devastation into voicemail messages to Isabelle’s old phone number. She doesn’t realize that it’s been reassigned to the work cell of Wes (Nick Robinson), a slick real-estate guy living back in Jill’s hometown of Austin. Wes listens to Isabelle’s messages, learns about Jill’s life, and… starts to really like her, albeit from afar. Soon he’s traveling to the Bay Area, hoping to meet this soulful, funny mystery woman.

If this story sounds vaguely familiar, you may be entitled to compensation for emotional distress, as it is possible you have seen the absolutely terrible romantic dramedy Love Again, starring Priyanka Chopra-Jonas and Celine Dion. That movie is also about a bereaved woman (mourning her husband rather than her sibling) who uses an old cell number and accidentally connects with a handsome stranger. For this feat, Voicemails for Isabelle deserves a lot of credit. Anyone can knock off When Harry Met Sally… or old screwball comedies. To knock off a movie like Love Again (intentionally or not; it sounds like McKendrick’s screenplay was written well before that movie was released) and actually make something good out of it is a major accomplishment.

And a fair share of that credit should go to Deutch. Writer-director Leah McKendrick, who also made the soul-searching comedy Scrambled, brings a slightly spikier sense of humor to Voicemails than a lot of streaming rom-coms usually get (she also brings some laughs personally in a supporting role as one of Wes’s besties). But Deutch is the pro who knows how to navigate that self-conscious messiness into palatable romantic yearning. Normally, a romantic comedy that drops half the maybe-couple’s storyline for an extended period to give more material over to the other’s career concerns would run the risk of tedium (and Voicemails probably didn’t need to run this close to two hours). Deutch, however, has a Meg Ryan winsomeness combined with a core steeliness that makes her just plain fun to watch, even if she’s playing a character who arrives years too late to the food-truck trend.

Her Meg Ryan-ness also means that Deutch often plays a little too chirpy for serious sexual heat; even the most explicit moments of Voicemails, which clearly prides itself on being at least somewhat R-rated, tend to turn on her not having sex (or at minimum, not actually enjoying it). Her upcoming comedy Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass (which is coming out on July 10th) puts that chipper sensibility to great use, with Deutch playing the title character, a Kansas hairdresser who goes on a not-quite-magical journey when her husband-to-be makes unexpectedly quick use of their playful “celebrity sex pass.” Wanting to even things up before their marriage, Gail and her best friend Otto (Miles Gutierrez-Riley) travel to Los Angeles in hopes of snagging her own celeb crush, Jon Hamm. (Naturally, they have no trouble locating John Slattery, who joins a lovably motley group that also includes Ben Wang and Ken Marino.)

Gail Daughtry comes from Wet Hot American Summer and They Came Together director David Wain, though it’s more homage than spoof. (The classic story it’s modeled after should become clear; Gail’s name and home state provide clues.) Nonetheless, Wain and co-writer Marino pack the movie with ridiculous jokes that wouldn’t be out of place in their silliest movies. A major reason Gail Daughtry doesn’t feel oversaturated with hipster irony — besides that many of the jokes are blessedly funny — is, again, the skill with which Deutch plays such a sweet-natured character. Wain and Marino’s goofiest jokes require a lead who can deliver them with a starry-eyed straight face; cheerful, charming, yet not betraying any sense that she knows that the entire construction around her is all a big goof. This is especially impressive considering that Deutch, as the daughter of actress Lea Thompson and director Howard Deutch, would have grown up around Hollywood types. That’s the kind of poise that Emma Roberts, say, can’t quite shake, good as she’s been. Deutch is surprisingly convincing as a girl next door.

Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass isn’t likely to become the summer’s biggest comedy, though it might deserve to. If anything, it’s cheaper-looking than your average streaming film — an area where Voicemails for Isabelle passes muster, probably because it was made by Sony before hitting Neflix directly — and while the aforementioned classic story lends the movie a basic framework, it’s not as durable as a proper spoof with some satirical underpinnings. It does fit Deutch’s persona, though. When she’s dabbled in satire, as with the rise-of-fascism parable Anniversary or the internet-fame-savaging Not Okay, the filmmakers’ commentary tends to feel a little plastic. Gail Daughtry gives her a closer approximation of old-fashioned screwball. Most contemporary rom-coms are far too squishy for even a soft-hearted version of that comic edge (and good as McKendrick’s movie is, that’s true of Voicemails, too). That’s become Deutch’s specialty: characters who are chipper, even mischievous, with the heart of a classic romantic heroine. She’s just synthetic enough to power through a Netflix rom-com with superhuman energy, and just sincere enough to make you care about it.

Jesse Hassenger (@rockmarooned) is a writer living in Brooklyn. He’s a regular contributor to The A.V. Club, Polygon, and The Week, among others. He podcasts at www.sportsalcohol.com, too.

Stream Voicemails for Isabelle on Netflix