Fall for Me

 

The experience of watching Fall for Me is a lot like watching paint dry, with the semi-important caveat of someone getting their nipples out every twenty minutes or so. For a movie angling at being Netflix’s next 365 Days – or whatever – that hardly seems like enough, and an abundance of good-looking stars and exotic location shooting doesn’t make up for the obvious lack of, and I sincerely mean this, anything interesting at all.

Only rarely does a movie this inane come around. It’d almost be worth celebrating if it didn’t steal almost two precious hours of your life. Think of all the things you could be doing instead of watching this movie. It’s a supposedly erotic thriller that is neither erotic nor thrilling, competent enough to not be so–bad–it’s–good–looking at you here, War of the Worlds – but nowhere near competent enough to actually be good. I know I’ve watched it, since the credits are still rolling, but I cannot describe how doing so has affected my life in any way; I’d have been just as well staring at this white Word document for the exact same length of time.

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