“My Oxford Year,” based on the novel by Julia Whelan, is about a woman who goes to Oxford for an entire year, so I guess there’s nothing to criticize about the title. It’s also a love story starring Sofia Carson and Corey Mylchreest, two actors so conventionally attractive they must have been bitten by radioactive issues of “Us Weekly.”
But as the credits rolled, I sank into my chair, feeling vaguely sated by Netflix’s latest, flagrant attempt to rip off Hallmark’s by making shiny, simplistic-yet-satisfying romances with slightly higher production values and a soundtrack budget that can afford “Yellow” by Coldplay.
That, unfortunately, is the problem. “My Oxford Year” has all the airy charms of a generic rom-com, but that’s not what this movie is. It’s a film that tries, although not very hard, to claw away at your soul. This is not adorable lovey-dovey escapism. It’s a bittersweet heartfelt tearjerker. At least, Netflix sure seems to think so. When you select the film on the Netflix app it literally says “bittersweet heartfelt tearjerker” under the title and running time.
So why is the sweetness lacking in bitter? Why can’t I feel my heart right now? (I mean metaphorically. Otherwise I’d be writing this in an ambulance.) Why did only one of my tears, at most, get a wee bit jerked?
To answer that question I’d have to discuss the mid-film plot twist. Netflix has asked critics not to ruin that part, which is pretty funny, since they ruined it themselves. They’re literally telling you it’s a “bittersweet heartfelt tearjerker” before you even press play. So although the first half of “My Oxford Year” would like you to think it’s just an adorable romantic comedy, we have a pretty good idea of what’s coming. Even if we somehow didn’t notice the description, the fact that every conversation is about how life and love are fleeting, and that love always matters even if it doesn’t last forever, kinda gives the game away. The communications officer on the Titanic didn’t telegraph this much.
The plot, if you must know, is about Anna De La Vega (Carson). She has a banking job lined up at Goldman Sachs, but she’s deferred her own employment for a year so she can study Victorian poetry at Oxford. You know, like one does. Her family watches the 1984 Rob Lowe romantic rowing team movie “Oxford Blues” to get some sense of what she’s in for, which shows they have good taste. Maybe too good. “Oxford Blues” isn’t exactly a timeless classic, but it’s better than “My Oxford Year,” and it’s annoying that you can’t watch it on Netflix right after this. Or instead.
Anyway, Anna is immediately splashed in the street by a speeding jaguar (the car, not the cat). The driver is Jamie Davenport (Mylchreest). A handsome young man. She hates him. Then it turns out this handsome young man is her poetry professor, so they fall for each other pretty quickly and boink for rest of the school year.
I looked it up: Oxford didn’t expressly forbid romantic relationships between faculty and students until 2023, which seems like a long time to establish that policy. Especially considering Oxford has been around for almost 1,000 years. But Julia Whelan’s book was published in 2018, so technically this romance is only extremely inappropriate in principle. The fine print strikes again!
“My Oxford Year” surrounds its lead lovers with stock rom-com archetypes. There’s the attractive and funny gay best friend Charlie (Harry Trevaldwyn), who the movie wants us to think is undateable. There’s the attractive and funny hetero best friend Maggie (Esmé Kingdom), who the movie also wants us to think is undateable. They, along with all the other attractive and likable people in the protagonists’ periphery, will eventually find people to date. Because no matter how much tragedy takes over the A-plot, the B-plot is always right out of a Garry Marshall movie, tonal dissonance be damned.
Again, “My Oxford Year” is shiny and affable, and if that was the assignment it’d get an “A” for effor- … actually that’s going too far, let’s make it a respectable “B.” But that’s not the assignment. We’re supposed to feel our heart break over the course of this movie, as young love gets put through the ringer. But the makers of “My Oxford Year” can’t help themselves. This movie is only allowed to be a little bit of a bummer sometimes, which means the biggest dramatic moments — the soul-crushing, the missed opportunities, the fear of imminent loss — never feel genuine. This is yet another movie where a character endures extreme suffering but never stops looking gorgeous — a trope we’ve all been laughing at for at least half a century, thanks largely to “Love Story” — which only subtracts more fuel from the fire.
I want to like “My Oxford Year,” and that’s what doesn’t work about it. The actual story isn’t heartwarming, it’s heart-wrenching. At least I assume it is. Otherwise there’d be no reason to tell this particular tale. You can produce pleasant romantic distractions without getting into all this painful, weepy territory, so if you’re going to dredge up all those unpleasantries you’d better be willing to deal with them. “My Oxford Year” never completely commits to its own thesis. That may be good enough to squeak by at a community college, but I don’t think it’s good enough for Oxford.
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