I find myself increasingly weary of the spy film genre, especially those that center around a romantic couple. It has become a trope so familiar, so predictable, that the very notion of it now feels like an exercise in the mundane. Each iteration feels almost mechanically constructed, as if there is an unspoken formula at play, one that prioritizes style over substance, a kind of cinematic sleight of hand designed to keep the audience distracted from the lack of originality beneath the surface. In this particular instance, however, the dialogue attempts to elevate itself above the usual banter of its kind, but only to the point of indulging in an almost ostentatious, borderline pretentious, air of intellectualism. There's a certain artifice to it all-an effort to sound clever, to sound profound, that ultimately rings hollow. The conversations between the characters, rather than offering any real emotional depth or compelling insight, instead feel like performative displays of wit, which do little more than alienate rather than engage. This was a film that seemed more concerned with showcasing its own perceived sophistication than with crafting any meaningful connection with its audience. And yet, despite all its verbal flourishes, it never once managed to grasp my attention in any truly significant way. The pacing felt sluggish, the stakes hardly compelling, and the emotional core-if one could even call it that-was so underdeveloped it barely registered. In the end, it was less a work of cinema and more an exercise in style over substance, one that never captured my imagination or curiosity.
