My Oxford Year review: Netflix's tragic romance tries to devastate you, but falls short

Before My Oxford Year, Corey Mylchreest was in Bridgerton: Queen Charlotte. In one of the most searing, memorable moments of the show, Queen Charlotte stands in front of him and fiercely demands, if he loves her. He, who fears his own instability,  avoids her gaze, stutters, till she draws the truth out of him in the rawest confession in the series. “I have loved you since the day you tried to go over the wall.”

The voice breaks. There’s the most tender vulnerability on display. It shows what Mylchreest is capable of. And so, when the trailer of My Oxford Year began playing in true Netflix fashion, where most of the story was given away, you would somehow expect the same level of intensity and power, in a plot that seems formulaic and cliched. But that’s fine, we’re here for the romantic cliches; just serve us some solid chemistry, and we’re sorted.

But, we aren’t. My Oxford Year, adapted from a novel and follows a similar line from The Fault in Our Stars, tells the story of the usual feisty protagonist (Carson), named Anna, whose entire life is planned out: Oxford and a job at Goldman Sachs. After some snarky banter and unnecessary sparring, Anna falls for Jamie Davenport, a smooth-talking doctoral student and professor (of course). She throws him plenty of glares while burying her nose in Victorian poetry. Then, suddenly, the plot shifts gears as if the show just remembered it has to rush the romance. Anna’s personality does a quick 180: all she wants is Jamie’s attention, enough to make him jealous, and then, well, they 'keep having fun', or so they keep saying. The chemistry falls so flat, you almost wish he’d step into a time-travel portal and return to Bridgerton, to Queen Charlotte—sigh.

But that’s not the only fault of My Oxford Year. The dialogue is trite, emotionally flat, and at times, almost infuriatingly insensitive—especially when Carson chooses to confront a grieving father about a deeply personal loss. As the film progresses, her once fiercely independent character is reduced to two traits: she likes poetry (never without a Keats book) and she likes Jamie. That’s it. It never feels like she was written for the weight of a tragic story, not even with an ending that’s clearly meant to deliver an emotional punch.

 The only moment that has some reverbrating significance in a rather tragic story like this, is a conversation between Jamie and his father. The frustration of a man, whose lost one son and isn’t ready to lose another bursts at the seams—and the volatile intensity shows, as he breaks the bottle in agony. This is where it hits and sinks in: You’re watching a story that does have a bit of a heart. But that quickly gets doused by more cliches, and an unnecessary bland argument, with Mylchreest trying his best with stilted dialogues.

The thing is, with My Oxford Year, you more or less know what you’re signing up for—a cheesy romance where the plot is predictable and the dialogue even more so. But even with those expectations, the film feels oddly half-hearted. At times, it’s as if even the actors would rather be somewhere else.