In 2012, at just 15 years old, I found myself at the forefront of the mid-2010s Young Adult (YA) adaptation phenomenon. This era was marked by John Green films not only gracing theater screens but also raking in hundreds of millions of dollars at the box office. The allure of teenage romance was palpable, exemplified by two 16-year-olds with terminal illnesses sharing a tender kiss on a bridge, soundtracked by a Charli XCX song that has since lost its charm for her. These films, including The Fault in Our Stars, It’s Kind of a Funny Story, Paper Towns, and Now Is Good, became my guilty pleasures. I consumed these poignant narratives of youthful heartache like sustenance, viewing them as the cerebral alternative to Twilight or The Hunger Games, which I still appreciate today.

Watching Netflix’s adaptation of the 2018 novel, My Oxford Year, was a nostalgic reminder of my teenage years. Back then, the most crucial detail to know about a boy was his favorite poet and the literary quote that adorned his iPod touch screensaver. Although My Oxford Year is based on a post-YA boom book and set in contemporary times, it embodies the essence of the 2010s. The film resembles a montage of Tumblr and We Heart It imagery, with a plot and character arcs reminiscent of a Wattpad story crafted by a 15-year-old fan of One Direction.

Experience the Cliché of Young Love in ‘My Oxford Year’

Anna (Sofia Carson), a New Yorker born to Latinx immigrants, has her entire future meticulously planned out. She has completed her degree and accepted a prestigious position as a financial analyst at Goldman Sachs. However, before diving into her corporate career, she seizes the opportunity to study at Oxford University, pursuing an MA in Victorian poetry. This is her last chance to indulge in her dreams before the reality of a 9-5 job consumes her, and she is determined to savor every moment! Armed with her English checklist, while her new British friends indulge in Naked Attraction (a rare representation of British culture that the film captures well), she immerses herself in the works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and recites quotes by Tennyson. One might say she’s… not like the others.

Her distinctiveness and sharp wit captivate the interest of her attractive substitute professor, Jamie (Corey Mylchreest), an Eton-educated gentleman who embodies the quintessential Oxford playboy. Their flirtation quickly escalates into a romance, which Jamie casually refers to as “just fun.” However, as they share more intimate moments, and the film cuts to scenes of them waking up together the next morning, their connection deepens. As the trailer hints, Jamie harbors a significant secret that will alter Anna’s plans and shift the trajectory of the narrative significantly.

Discover the Game-Changing Midway Revelation in ‘My Oxford Year’

My Oxford Year unfolds as a tale of two contrasting halves, initially focusing on Anna before shifting to Jamie’s perspective. While Anna is framed as the central character, the latter part of the film pivots to Jamie’s storyline, even though the film attempts to maintain the illusion of following Anna’s journey. Although Anna may not be the most captivating narrator, by the time Jamie’s life-altering secret is revealed, viewers have established some emotional connection with her. She represents the daughter of hardworking immigrants who have strived for a better life, and these values have naturally been instilled in Anna. She poignantly notes that not everyone enjoys the privileges that Jamie takes for granted on a teacher’s salary. Yet, his affluent background is presented as an enticing fantasy for American viewers, as Anna and her friends experience the opulence of his expansive family estate.

Rather than delving into the complexities of their differing philosophies on life, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness shaped by class and upbringing, Anna and Jamie’s relationship revolves around exchanging increasingly earnest platitudes and quotes from centuries-old literature that the screenplay awkwardly integrates into every exchange. “The best parts of life are the messy bits!” “Just because something is fleeting doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful!” The film is so inundated with these clichés that it hinders any character from resonating as a typical twenty-something for extended periods. The excessively lengthy runtime of two hours is filled with philosophical catchphrases, each one failing to land as effectively as the last.

Following Jamie’s revelation, the film transitions into significantly darker themes, compressing them into the easily marketable notion of “live life to the fullest.” The juxtaposition of these superficial sentiments with serious themes like grief and mortality shifts the film from being harmlessly simplistic to alarmingly thoughtless. In contrast to The Fault in Our Stars, which, to John Green‘s credit, crafted a poignant and empathetic narrative about two young lovers confronting their mortality, My Oxford Year feels like a jumbled assortment of every cliché from the YA boom, lacking the charm and emotional depth that initially endeared audiences to these stories.

Explore the Conservative Approach of ‘My Oxford Year’ within Netflix’s Romance Collection

Netflix’s offerings in the romance genre are notably diverse, showcasing a range of narratives from the relatable, youthful experiences found in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and The Half of It, to the steamy and sophisticated allure of Bridgerton, which artfully blends nuanced female perspectives with classic romantic tropes. However, My Oxford Year aligns more with the conservative side of Netflix’s catalog. While the film does include some intimate moments, it’s not merely Anna’s approach to love that grants the film a notably innocent tone. During a conversation about his travels in Europe, Jamie mentions the infamous Red Light District, a well-known tourist location in Amsterdam. Without missing a beat, Anna retorts, “I’m not that kind of girl.” However, Jamie’s reference was actually to a stunning church! This awkward line could make any modern woman cringe. Coupled with Anna’s continuous wardrobe choices of knee-high socks, mini skirts, tartan trench coats, and sensible shoes, My Oxford Year is likely to resonate with fans of the “Christian Girl Autumn” aesthetic.

Both Sofia Carson and Corey Mylchreest are familiar faces for dedicated Netflix viewers. Carson has appeared in The Life List, Carry-On, and Purple Hearts, while Mylchreest starred in the more risqué romance of the Bridgerton spin-off, Queen Charlotte. In her portrayal of Anna, Carson exhibits a somewhat rigid demeanor, often sporting a self-satisfied smirk or biting her lip. Although her performance becomes more relaxed in the film’s latter half, Carson’s characterization of a witty American who relishes the scent of books feels like the archetype of a “Pick Me Girl.” While Carson and Mylchreest share a decent chemistry, Mylchreest occasionally lapses into a bland imitation of Hugh Grant. Anna’s British friends, played by Harry Trevaldwyn, Nikhil Parmar, and Esmé Kingdom, infuse some light-heartedness into the film, alleviating its pretentious tone. Meanwhile, Dougray Scott, portraying Jamie’s father, rises above the material, delivering a powerful performance that feels like he’s acting in a much more compelling film. When the narrative delves into somber themes, Scott’s presence serves as a sobering reminder of reality, bringing the story closer to a genuine emotional experience.

Contrary to what one might gather from this critique, I have a genuine fondness for romance films. However, this genre is often filled with mediocrity, making it increasingly challenging to pinpoint the worthwhile entries. We crave nuanced characters, authentic dialogue, and intimate, meaningful connections on screen. My Oxford Year could have grossed $100 million at the box office had it been released in 2013. Yet, like the streaming service’s disappointing adaptation of Uglies last year, it feels like a relic from the era of Just Girly Things and the Obama administration.

My Oxford Year premieres on Netflix on August 1.