(Written by Intern, Miranda Zampogna)
I Love You Forever’s subversion falls hard on a wilted pile of roses. Billed as a romantic comedy, writer/directors Cazzie David and Elisa Kalani aim to use romantic conventions as a disguise, tricking spectators into exploring the complexities of an emotionally abusive relationship. We are introduced to Mackenzie (Sofia Black-D’Elia), a law student unsatisfied with her current situationship, who falls for Finn (Ray Nicholson), a successful television news anchor whose love bombing takes a drastic turn. Here, the common affirmation “love you forever” gains double meaning as a threat and lampoons the head over heels cliché. Nevertheless, attempts to skewer generic tropes invariably stumble, delivering a repetitive and tonally inconsistent experience that fails to resonate. Ambition is not the crux of the issue, rather the hyperbolic and one-note execution lacks the nuance or genuine insight needed to elevate this premise beyond its initial hoodwink.
Mackenzie, a neurotic young woman with a pessimistic outlook, navigates the minefield of modern dating. At a friend’s birthday party, she meets Finn, a charismatic news reporter. Despite her anxieties, they begin a whirlwind romance. Finn’s over-the-top gestures, like renting out an entire restaurant for their first date, initially charm Mackenzie, and their bond quickly intensifies. They exchange “I love you’s” on live television, swap gifts, and become inseparable. However, the rosy glow of their early romance soon fades. Finn’s charming facade cracks, revealing controlling and manipulative behavior. Mackenzie, despite her self-awareness of bad relationships, seems unable to recognize the severity of the warning signs, clinging to the idealized version of their dynamic. Her friends (Cazzie David and Jon Rudnitsky) offer lukewarm support, failing to effectively address the escalating situation. Finn’s worsening behavior causes her academic performance to suffer. Meanwhile, her fraying friendships and a developing anxiety disorder leave her with no other alternative but to stay, caught in a cycle of abuse.
Unusual for a romantic comedy, a lack of rich or integral personalities weakens the characters. On paper, Mackenzie proffers an interesting complexity of being socially awkward and pessimistic, counteracting her intelligence and intuitiveness. She extends sage relationship advice to her friend in the set-up, and later during their first date, she makes a precise psychoanalysis of Finn during an icebreaker game. This all purposefully exhibits how even the most well-informed woman can fall victim to an emotional abuser. Even so, the implementation of her pragmatism never follows through on this promise, coming off as less blinded by love than oblivious. Her projection of an unrealistic fantasy is debatable when the rosy filter turns off sooner than it should, but she continues ignoring red flags. Moreover, their whirlwind romance unfolds through a contrived, vertical social media montage. Although it appears interesting to mirror her subjective filter with an Instagram one to indicate how she projects her desires onto Finn, it does not cue an audience into their bonding. After act two begins, instead of utilizing an underlying toxicity that organically portrays themes of psychological manipulation, a premature, sobering argument jumps the gun. Most confusing, Mackenzie goes on her computer right after as if it had no effect. Establishing no emotional stakes and her motivation to stay directly contrasting her personality is one thing. Surely, the most egregious aspect lies in how she is portrayed as an inattentive irritant, leading viewers to agree when Finn tells her she is unlovable.
A small gripe arises from this production’s casting. Sofia Black-D’Elia and Ray Nicholson tout fine performances, yet a necessary spark between them fizzles. Due to the inherent intertextuality in the meta-commentary, it is not lost on the audience that Finn has an uncanny similarity to a certain Jack Torrance from The Shining. Ray Nicholson frightens as a bipolar abuser and effectively portrays this side of his character well; though, the winsome side of being a perfect stranger never fully fleshes out. Jon Rudnitsky provides an energetic performance as the wisecracking friend Lucas, and Cazzie David’s Ally adds dry wit in line with the comedic bleakness. Yet, their talents are underutilized, nor are they given much narrative purpose. The same could be said for the lead actress, whose comic prowess is well-known from the hit show The Mick, but a missing relatable charm legitimizes the antagonist’s self-defeating insults.
A lot of ambition is put into the voice, which admittedly seems personal and interesting barring the question of its level of appropriateness. Competing tones and manic subjects that flip on a dime evoke a distinct Jekyll and Hyde feeling. At its heart pumps a relatable message about how anyone can fall victim to emotional abuse, and how it is not a linear journey but a cyclical one. Nevertheless, the impact of these themes diminishes with static visuals, grating dialogue, and hyperbolism.
The opening sequence drenched in the saccharine rosy hues over a naughties’ girly pop anthem jarringly shifts to a stark, blue-toned palette following an awkward post-coital conversation. Color correction whiplash becomes a recurring motif, attempting to balance levity and drama by toggling the utopic lens. Yet, this overused motif lacks subtlety and progression, quickly wearing its appeal. The early scenes, with their static shots mimicking a Judd Apatow movie, lack energy and fail to capture attention. While low contrast transitions into darker shots and slight make-up changes welcome subtlety, they are undermined by a non-developing arc and absurdist overtures. Furthermore, clunky and on-the-nose dialogue explicitly states plot points rather than organically conveying them. Mackenzie’s terminally online Gen Z eccentricities, peppered with internet slang, render her more caricature than relatable. Black satire of abusive affairs and surface-level meta-jokes contribute to an overall broadness. For example, the perfect stranger Finn represents is too quickly marred by obvious signs of trouble. He is prevented from fully poking fun at rom-coms’ conventional larger-than-life personas and gnawing optimistic outlooks. Aiming for a biting black comedy, the excessive nature of Finn’s actions – from crashing out to vitriolic verbal abuse – crosses the line into melodrama or absurdity, sacrificing emotional impact. While the exaggeration never trivializes abusive partnerships, it does not add any fresh perspective or insight.
At the outset, the fulfillment of genre conventions and expectations feels familiar and redundant. The quintessential meet-cute yawns as a snoozefest. Nothing quirky or memorable happens as the main protagonists exchange contact information at a bar–inconsistently underplaying this romantic trope otherwise exaggerated throughout. Adding an element of nuance, however, is the classic “will they, will they not” shtick getting relegated to the “will she or will she not leave”. Nevertheless, this major dramatic question gets posed much later at the midpoint. The latter half descends into increasingly outlandish scenarios, including a horror-movie-esque shower scene and a shaky-cam confrontation. Associations of rom-coms with horror are not as novel as they once were, with comparables saturating the market. In addition, late-stage genre meshing further delegitimizes and hampers the insidious nature of a toxic romance, killing dramatic tension with parody. Albeit foreseeable, a twisted form of poetic justice delivered at the end in a regressive turn of events is consistent with the ironic wryness that acts as an interesting take on the tradition.
Despite I Love You Forever’s attempts at subverting romantic comedy tropes, it eventually falls victim to them and suffers from shallow explorations of a sensitive subject matter. An anti-Valentine’s Day crowd looking to ridicule their least favorite holiday and blacken their hearts may find the comedy subdued. Moreover, unsuspecting couples should be warned well in advance as unromantic themes will dampen the mood. Ultimately forgettable, catch I Love You Forever on streaming where a Gen Z or Millennial target audience may appreciate its satirical lens of technological dating etiquette.
Grab your favorite pint of ice cream to cry into when I Love You Forever makes its mark in theaters, Friday, February 7th.
