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By Chris Snellgrove
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The new Netflix movie My Oxford year advertises himself as an ROM-Com, but there’s a walk that is supposed to break your heart. Unfortunately, the film fails as romance and comedy, and the spin in question (vigilant spoilers in the rest of this review) are as empty as it is manipulative. The result is a film made for Tiktok generation, which includes a handful of quotation moments that, like the heroine’s emotional journey, never add to anything substantial.
The heroine in question is a bright young woman who has already graduated at the top of her class in Cornell and who has offered Goldman Sachsshire waiting for her. She has delayed that offer for a year so that she can complete her nerdy Anglophilic dream of studying at Oxford. With all the economy that this Leaden script can control (and that’s not anyway), her perfectly designed life collapses apart when it gets hot to the teacher; In this case, a doctoral student who is tutors and sometimes serves as a teaching assistant for his Oxford English teacher.
My Oxford year He has plenty of structural problems in his script, but the film’s most basic failure is that these two romantic leaders (Sofia Carson and Corey Mylchreest) do not have a romantic chemistry together at all. They both seemed to have walked right out of central casting when the director (Iain Morris, a solid writer whose instructional experience is almost entirely limited to television) asked for “beautiful college students.” The two are certainly easy on the eyes, but these two look like they have so much passion for each other with two Abercrombie and Fitch Mannequins thrust together in a crowded shop window.
The film often feels overcrowded by Oxford itself, and the best individual about the film is that it features one beautiful shot after the other from the esteemed university. After a while, however, it becomes clear that Oxford is a bit like our romantic leaders – something trophy to put in front of the camera to compensate for what the script is short of. This unhindered beauty is still better, though, with another way the script of compensating for its failures: moving one torture literary direction after the other down our throat as a chatbot AI trained only on sparknotes.
“My Oxford year feels more like Oxford Coma.”
The lack of chemistry undermines the film’s efforts to romance, and its efforts to comedy fall in the same way always at all times. Ultimately, we get to the big turn: the man our heroine has fallen in love with him dies from cancer he refuses to treat because he saw his brother die boring despite having the best cancer treatment in the world courtesy of their rich parents. Life needs to be authentic and free of treatment until he dies, and this revelation denotes the sudden flip of the film into a Maudlin play filled with platforms that you would normally find on “hang in there” cat posters.
I felt disengaged from this film from start to finish, and that was when I realized it was smaller as a film and more like Emoji. That is, the two -dimensional characters, schmaltzy sets, and heart pull turns all feel like a distant Zoomer disconnected idea of what actual emotions would look like. There is no passion, no joy, no authentic aspiration in this Dimestore romance because the writers should have taken the same advice as it gave to our main character: living deliberately and experiencing life for the fullest rather than repairing a few trophy words that have no personal meaning.
It’s a romance that turns you off, a comedy that doesn’t make you laugh, and a play that makes you feel nothing at all. My Oxford year supposed to be a story about the romance of destiny for younger audiences, but its limp attitude towards all aspects of storytelling reduces a sweeping epic to nothing more than a disposable meme-something to respond to and forget immediately. If you want to see pretty people pretending to be worried about each other, you’ll find much more enjoyment of a random pornhub clip than this boring Oxford coma of movie.
My Oxford year A review score
