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Cathy Garcia-Molina's My Amnesia Girl has all the trappings of detestable formula. Like all of the romantic comedies that preceded it, the ones that have given Star Cinema the ill-repute of dumbing down its followers with rehashes of the same story, by  the film seems to be relying solely on kitsch, on star power, on everything artificial. There is no denying the film's use of kitsch. In fact, the film is quite unabashed with it, with characters strangely enveloped by a culture of love reigning supreme over everything else. It is adamantly unpretentious, relishing on the obvious fact that it has in its service of fun an abundance of cute and hip. It does not aspire anything more than to recharge its audience's thirst for spritely romance, the one that is less attached to reality, the one that mines on the mysteries of fate to add magic to it.