Last summer, I had the privilege of reviewing Netflix’s Falling Inn Love. The made-for-TV movie, a schmaltzy romantic comedy as terrible as the pun in its title, was categorically awful. Still, its predictable pacing and shiny optimism plucked a glowing review from my heart.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the world is a mess right now,” I wrote of the comparatively utopian climate we enjoyed in 2019. “There’s just something about watching two good people try to do a really good thing that is…well, good.”
Overwhelmed by the stresses of yesteryear, I rationalized my appreciation for — and public recommendation of — a movie I typically wouldn’t have liked as an indulgence of my dire need for some Hallmark Channel-style sentimentality. Read more…
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