Beneath the affected spectacle of “The Prom” is a relatively compelling premise: a handful of out of touch New Yorkers— nay, Broadway actors, condescend to a small town under the guise of spreading progressive politics. As the outline for questions about how celebrity functions in the 21st century, how politics becomes more a form of brand and persona maintenance than a praxis that’s embedded into the lives of the people who slap it on, and whether, indeed, east coast elites do know better, “The Prom” had an out with its satire. The Broadway musical with a book by Bob Martin and Chad Beguelin, music by Matthew Sklar, and lyrics by Beguelin, was a show that could get away with naive politics and its frequently misplaced earnestness because it was effective, and for most of its running time, a clever-enough satire of how activism and actor celebrity are, at their core, bizarre bedfellows. And in Ryan Murphy’s film adaptation for Netflix, the show’s flaws seem accentuated, with its spectacle too mismanaged to distract that “The Prom’s” brand of sincerity isn’t necessarily tailored for the screen, or at least not in this form.