One can’t say Adam Brooks’ adaptation of Lori Nelson Spielman’s The Life List reinvents the wheel of romantic comedies, nor does it advance the potential of cinema as an artform forward. The movie is meant to be a cozy Saturday night watch for people who want to spend their evening in front of the television and have a moderate time watching something safe that won’t make them overthink. Nothing more, nothing less. In that regard, it makes us care about what’s most important, even if the Netflix flick is a bit hit or miss.
The visual language from Florian Ballhaus, who has recently shot many direct-to-streaming romantic comedies, including Kat Coiro’s Marry Me and Aline Brosh McKenna’s Your Place or Mine, is as televisual as it gets. Soft lenses give the movie the warm and fuzzy feel one gets when wrapped up in a blanket, as we slowly get immersed in Alex Rose’s (Sofia Carson) quest of finding a reason to live—and love—again, in the wake of her mother Elizabeth’s (Connie Britton) passing. On the flip side, Peter Teschner’s editing sadly juxtaposes Ballhaus’s images with the hyperactivity of a TikToker unable to pay attention for more than ten seconds, which is par for the course.
Most of The Life List comprises shot-reverse-shot conversations between Alex and the bevy of characters she interacts with. There’s no flow in how each shot placement—where both characters are in the frame—responds to one another, or creates a vivid form of romantic tension between the protagonist, and her multiple love interests, either self-centered Finn (Michael Rowland), too-good-to-be-true Garrett (Sebastian de Souza), and the good-looking and good-hearted Brad (Kyle Allen), whom we probably know Alex will end up with by the time the credits roll.
Many will also know how the movie will wrap up when, to get the inheritance left by her mother, Alex is forced to complete a “life list” she wrote at the age of 13. With each task she completes in the list, Alex will receive a DVD with a message from Elizabeth, which she recorded slowly before her resurgent cancer fully consumed her body. While most of her tasks are attainable and will be accomplished before the New Year’s, such as “get a tattoo,” “learn how to drive,” and “perform Claire de Lune on the piano,” others are damn-near impossible, like the elusive “find true love,” a subjective notion that may or may not exist depending on your conception of what “love” is.
The Life List is Too Predictable
As much as Brooks will try to deceive us by depicting the burgeoning relationship between Alex and the too-perfect Garrett, we know as soon as Brad appears on screen, they will fall in love by the time the movie ends. Is it because the story itself lacks imagination, or is it because Kyle Allen has made a name for himself in direct-to-streaming romantic films, such as The Map of Tiny Perfect Things, The In Between, and Rosaline, that he’s now become a go-to figure for these types of films?
In all honesty, it may be a bit of both. As soon as all the moving pieces are introduced, one can stop the movie and know beat-for-beat what will happen. Brooks has little to no interest in developing a deeper examination of grief through the prism of its protagonist. Most of the tasks she accomplishes aren’t morally challenging—they act as fodder to remind herself what kind of person she is. There are pleasant moments sprinkled throughout what’s otherwise a quasi-slog to get through, notably a humorous set piece involving Knicks legend Patrick Ewing and a stand-up bit where Alex calls out a total creep on stage, deservedly humiliating him.
But the bulk of The Life List is filled with repetitive platitudes, especially when we can see the telegraphed emotional beats coming a mile away. The only tangible moment of emotion comes when Alex reunites with a long-lost family connection (played by Jordi Mollà). The veteran actor gives a form of texture that was severely lacking in the picture, even if he only appears for a scene, imbuing his turn with so much regret that, even if we know how this moment will wrap up, still hits like a punch in the gut when Alex realizes what will happen. It’s the only sequence in the film where the emotion transcends the artifice of cinema and makes us understand that life, no matter how complicated it may get, will never go our way and that we won’t be able to resolve everything we want before our ultimate trip begins.
Though it isn’t explicitly implied as it is more alluded to, it’s a welcome audience-confronting moment in a movie that otherwise coddles them from beginning to end. Alex’s journey has no significant challenges since they are all superficially constructed and never dig deeper past what the film’s framing device introduces us to. Most of us will know how they will be resolved even before she decides to take action for a better, more fulfilling life, not only for herself but in her relationship with her father (José Zúñiga) and siblings Lucas (Dario Ladani Sanchez) and Julian (Frederico Rodriguez).
Thankfully, we remain semi-invested in the proceedings, thanks to Carson’s lead turn. She plays the character with such an ineffable spirit and infectious energy that we quickly latch on to her “life list” journey, as telegraphed as it may get. Knowing when to balance out the relatable, funny side of her through her relationship with Brad and the more vulnerable parts of her life so effectively is the number one reason why the movie, despite the screenwriting ineptitudes it’s facing, still manages to work well. Carson also shares a palpable sense of chemistry with Allen, whose charm makes him a perfect pairing for the lead character, leading us to believe—and ultimately root for—their foreshadowed romantic partnership.
That said, it does feel relatively insidious that Netflix, of all studios, would back a movie where DVDs act as a major narrative device after they’ve killed their existence through their elimination of video stores. This isn’t the first time one of their movies carries a pro-physical media statement, with Sam Esmail’s Leave the World Behind ending on a note that urges audiences to preserve a physical collection should the world end. If that isn’t enough to convince you to ditch streaming services and continue buying as many physical objects as possible that you can preserve for your entire life, I don’t know what will, though I doubt such a message works in Netflix’s favor.
The Life List is currently streaming on Netflix.