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‘Falling Inn Love’ is Netflix’s homage to puerility (Rating: * & 1/2)

Falling Inn Love (Streaming on Netflix) Cast: Christina Milian, Adam Demos; Direction: Roger Kumble; Rating: one and a half stars

In spite of the extra ‘n’ (creating a vapid pun for corny consumption), the title took me back to the Robert De Niro-Meryl Streep 1984 romantic classic.

But stop right there. Title apart, there is no similarity between “Falling In Love”, and its new pallid and puerile namesake(with an extra ‘n’). The romance between a giddy-headed impulsive and misguided San Francisco girl Gabriela (Christina Milian) and a grieving property-enhancer Jake (Adam Demos) whom she meets and employs after inheriting a cottage in Auckland, proudly wears every cliche from the book of mushy romance on its sleeve.

In fact so brazenly flat and uni-dimensional is the film’s romantic pitch that it would be difficult for even the most soppy romantic to sit through its sloppy sentimentality even if this was the only video available for rent on Valentine’s Day.

The aimed audience seems to be 12-year-old girls, and even they would rather watch “Game of Thrones”. In “Falling Inn Love”, the chances of the lovebirds doing anything to surprise us is nil. They meet and hate one another on sight. Rather, Gabriela who has just broken up with her boyfriend back home, behaves like a housewife shooing off a pesky salesman from her door.

Of course, the ice thaws, and the narrative melts like an ice cream cone left out in the Sun. No point in trying to save the residue from dribbling down as it (the residue) is unlikely to add up to anything substantial. Apart from the scenic New Zealand location, there is nothing here to hold your attention.

The performances are as unremarkable as the storytelling. While Adam Damos is male beauty at its most stoic and uninspired , Christina Milian acts as if every frame is her last. She could easily pass as a character in an animation film. Some restraint would have gone a long way in giving the predictable plot a controlled tone. But then again when the director’s aspirations are so low as to defeat every attempt at refinement, then what is the point of even trying?

Do yourself a favour. Go back to “Falling In Love” without the extra ‘n’.




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