Seconds after the opening credits of “My Oxford Year” have discreetly scrolled across the screen, our happy heroine strolls the streets surrounding the titular British institution and is haphazardly doused by a massive puddle thanks to a vintage vehicle driven by her soon-to-be paramour. This klutzy comedic moment endemic to the rom-com genre unfortunately doubles as a fitting metaphor for the viewing audience, as the ensuing shenanigans make us feel pelted by that same gutter water time and time again. What should be a tender, feminist-minded story centered on a young woman rediscovering her dormant childhood dreamer turns into a middling melodrama about being with a cute guy in desperate need of her rescue.
Anna de la Vega (Sofia Carson) has been fantasizing about attending Oxford University since she was 10 years old, cracking open a dusty old book of poetry for the first time. Even before her face appears on camera and the narration reiterates what’s already been shown, it’s clear that this Type A personality has built her entire world around this milestone adventure (reinforced by meticulously curated context clues, which include dog-eared copies of Austen, Fitzgerald and Brontë’s works, as well as a diploma from Cornell and other framed honors). Anna’s plan is to defer her post-graduate financial analyst gig at Goldman Sachs for a year to study Victorian poetry under the tutelage of her personal hero Professor Styan (Barunka O’Shaughnessy) and then return to the States to make her mom (Romina Cocca) and dad (Yadier Fernández) proud by getting a job in finance.
However, Anna’s plans are quickly dashed upon meeting hunky, wealthy local playboy Jamie Davenport (Corey Mylchreest). Their chance, embarrassingly adorkable meet-cute in a fish-and-chips shop leads to fate pushing them together again in the classroom when Jamie takes over teaching duties on the first day. Flirtatious hijinks ensue, such as singing pub karaoke, eating at a kebab food truck and playing unhealthy jealousy games involving leggy redhead Cecelia Knowles (Poppy Gilbert) and oblivious dweeb Ridley (Hugh Coles). They inevitably give in to their lustful feelings. But when the pair begin to realize their casual love affair is far more meaningful than a fling, complications and hard, hidden truths bubble to the surface that affect both of their futures.
The execution by director Iain Morris (“The Inbetweeners”) and writers Allison Burnett and Melissa Osborne (adapting Julia Whelan’s novel) is subpar, both in their character construction and narrative twists and turns. Unless it’s blatantly stated, we rarely get the sense Anna values practicality and financial success over indulging her romantic whimsy. All we see is her swooning over sentimentality. It’s not far-fetched to wonder how she compartmentalizes pragmatism and passion, allowing her ambitious drive to take a back seat to love. The filmmakers had ample opportunity to establish and better integrate Anna’s inner push-pull as a first-generation American daughter of immigrants, searching for a balance between her heart’s desires and her parents’ wishes for success, yet they falter. Instead, they handwave that aspect.
Rather than exploring Anna’s complex conundrums after she acclimates to her new digs (with lame fish-out-of-water gags galore) and starts sleeping with Jamie, they allow his conflicts to take over the film, eclipsing her struggles and dwarfing her significance in her quest. His familial strife dealing with his disapproving father William (Dougray Scott) and denial-riddled mother Antonia (Catherine McCormack) is given priority around the midpoint and doesn’t let up until the finale. There’s a predictable outcome as well, made worse by contrivances where circumstances are problems until they’re magically not, lacking satisfying emotional resolution. Anna puts herself in a subordinate role as a tool used to mend Jamie’s family’s fissures, allowing him to experience a greater arc than her own.
While its story holds much to be desired, the film’s technical craftsmanship earns higher marks. Pacing picks up in tangible energy and vibrancy within editors Victoria Boydell and Kristina Hetherington’s montages. The upbeat effervescence of Anna and Jamie’s trysts are endearingly bubbly in their hands. With its punch of Isabella Summers’ swelling, swirling score and a flurry of sharp cuts, toggling between fantasy and reality, their final montage’s end note is surprisingly effective, radiating beyond the end credits. Cinematographer Remi Adefarasin’s diffuse lighting during enchanting sequences brings a soft warmth, though the film’s overall flat, shallow focus is made a glaring issue at the start when clips from “Oxford Blues” play, emphasizing how cinematic films looked in the 1980s compared to the current digital era.
A love story only works if audiences care about the couple, and despite the aforementioned shortcomings, Carson and Mylchreest elevate the material. They have great chemistry together, conducting heat and sparks for necessary rootable interest. Both deliver genuinely open-hearted performances. As seen mere months ago in her previous Netflix romantic-dramedy “The Life List,” Carson is adept at making sarcasm and sorrow resonate, finding nuance and strength in vulnerability. When it comes to the supporting players, Harry Trevaldwyn is a true highlight as Anna’s gay neighbor/ classmate Charlie Butler. His attention-grabbing performance recalls Rhys Ifans in “Notting Hill,” stealing the show as the comedic relief best exemplified in a scene where he goes on a riff about his elaborate vision of his death.
Everything that “The Fault In Our Stars” and “Wish You Were Here” do right by fans of “Girl Who Is ‘Going To Be Okay’” movies (to borrow the TikTok catchphrase), “My Oxford Year” does wrong, vibrating on the same key as “Me Without You,” from its heroine’s journey toward enlightenment to basic fundamentals dealing with character motivations. Our hopes for a thoughtful rumination on the messy bits of life making up the best parts of us deflates into a mess as the filmmakers continually forget their female protagonist should remain at the center of its universe.
