Look Both Ways

If you’ve ever stared at a five-year plan and realized you haven't even figured out what you're having for dinner, Look Both Ways might feel uncomfortably personal. It taps into that specific, paralyzing brand of "New Adult" anxiety where every decision feels like a permanent fork in the road. On the night of her college graduation, Natalie Bennett takes a pregnancy test that splits her universe in two. In one reality, the test is positive, and she heads back to her childhood bedroom to raise a baby. In the other, it’s negative, and she’s off to Los Angeles to chase a career in animation.

I watched this while my radiator was making a sound like a dying Victorian ghost, which oddly added a layer of tension to the opening scene. Usually, these "What If" movies lean into the cosmic or the tragic, but Wanuri Kahiu (who directed the excellent and much more controversial Rafiki) keeps things grounded in the kind of low-stakes drama that feels high-stakes when you're twenty-two. It’s a "Sliding Doors" for the Netflix generation, and while it doesn't reinvent the wheel, it understands the specific terror of wondering if you’re currently ruining your life.

The Tale of Two Natalies

Lili Reinhart carries the weight of both timelines with a grounded, relatable charm that Riverdale rarely allowed her to showcase. She isn't playing two different characters; she’s playing the same girl responding to two vastly different sets of stressors. In the "Mom" timeline, we see her grappling with the loss of her identity as she moves back in with her parents—played with delightful, lived-in chemistry by Luke Wilson and Andrea Savage. Savage, in particular, avoids the "nagging mom" trope, offering a performance that’s both hilariously blunt and deeply empathetic.

Meanwhile, the "Career" timeline follows Natalie to LA, where she lands an assistant gig for her idol and falls into a polished, high-gloss romance with Jake, played by David Corenswet. If you’ve seen him in Pearl or are tracking his trajectory as the new Man of Steel in the DC Universe, you know he has "Leading Man" written in his DNA. Here, he’s essentially the human equivalent of a warm oat milk latte—sweet, aesthetically pleasing, and perhaps a little too perfect to be real.

The contrast between the two lives is highlighted by a clever bit of color coding by cinematographer Alan Caudillo. The Austin/Parenting scenes are bathed in cool, domestic blues and shadows, while the LA/Career path is drenched in sunset pinks and golden hour glows. It’s a subtle trick that keeps the viewer from getting lost in the shuffle, even when the editing starts to mirror the two lives more aggressively.

The Better Half of the Multiverse

The real heart of the film, surprisingly, isn't the LA dream—it’s the Austin reality. Much of that is thanks to Danny Ramirez (who you might recognize from Top Gun: Maverick) as Gabe, the father of Natalie’s child. Their relationship is complicated, messy, and refreshingly devoid of the usual rom-com theatrics. Ramirez brings a vulnerability to the role that makes you root for them, even when the movie tries to convince you that LA is where the "real" action is.

Actually, the movie’s biggest hot take is its refusal to pick a winner. In a genre that usually rewards the "hustle" or romanticizes the "sacrifice," Look Both Ways suggests that happiness isn't a destination you reach by picking the right door, but a byproduct of just keepin' on. It’s a comforting, if slightly safe, message.

One bit of trivia I stumbled upon: the film was originally titled Plus/Minus, which is arguably a much better title for a movie centered on a pregnancy test, but Netflix likely wanted something that sounded more like a thriller to juice the algorithm. It’s a classic example of "streaming era" packaging—take a sweet, character-driven drama and give it a title that sounds like a PSA about crossing the street.

A Cozy Quarter-Life Crisis

While the script by April Prosser hits a few predictable beats—yes, there is a "sad montage" in both timelines at the exact same moment—it succeeds by being honest about the drudgery of both paths. Success in LA isn't instant; it involves a lot of making coffee and getting your ego bruised. Parenting in Austin isn't a magical bonding experience; it’s a lot of exhausted silence and wondering where your social life went.

It’s the kind of movie that fits perfectly into the current "Comfort Cinema" trend. It doesn't demand your full intellectual engagement, but it rewards your attention with genuine emotional beats. It’s not trying to be Everything Everywhere All At Once; it’s just trying to tell you that it’s okay to be scared.

The film premiered during a time when we were all re-evaluating our life choices post-pandemic, and that resonance helped it climb the charts. It lacks the historical weight of the classics, but for a Friday night on the couch, it’s a much more substantive meal than the usual "Content" slurry.

Ultimately, Look Both Ways is a gentle reminder that there is no "wrong" version of your life. It’s bolstered by a strong central performance from Lili Reinhart and a supporting cast that brings more depth to the table than the script strictly requires. It won't change your life, but if you’re currently standing at your own crossroads, it might just help you breathe a little easier. It’s a sweet, colorful, and occasionally moving look at the messiness of growing up, even if you have to do it twice.