Love in the Villa

Forget the actual airport—stepping into a Netflix original rom-com in the 2020s is its own form of international travel. You know the terminal: it’s paved with oversaturated color grading, populated by people who have suspiciously high-end wardrobes for "struggling" professions, and governed by the laws of the Meet-Cute. Love in the Villa (2022) is a textbook example of this streaming-era escapism, arriving at a moment when we were all collectively desperate to see a world outside our own living rooms. I watched this while eating a bowl of cold leftover spaghetti and wearing one mismatched sock because I couldn't be bothered to find the other, and honestly, the sheer, aggressive "Italian-ness" of the screen almost made me feel like I’d put on a clean shirt and caught a flight to Verona.

The Logistics of a Double-Booked Destiny

The premise is a classic "enemies-to-lovers" setup that feels like it was engineered by a Hallmark-obsessed AI, yet it’s delivered with such earnestness that you almost forgive the clichés. Kat Graham (who many of us spent years watching in The Vampire Diaries) plays Julie, a third-grade teacher whose life is organized into meticulous spreadsheets. When her boyfriend Raymond Ablack—playing the kind of guy who breaks up with you right before a big trip—unceremoniously dumps her, she heads to Verona alone. Naturally, due to a "glitch" in the system (the most overworked plot device in modern cinema), she finds her villa already occupied by Charlie, a cynical British wine pro played by Tom Hopper.

If you know Tom Hopper from the brooding violence of Black Sails or his giant-man-child energy in The Umbrella Academy, seeing him as a romantic lead is a bit of a trip. He spends the first act being as "British" as possible—which in this movie's language means "vaguely rude and allergic to fun"—while Julie is the "American" who "just wants to experience the magic." It’s a collision of tropes that Mark Steven Johnson directs with the subtlety of a Vespa crash. Johnson, curiously enough, is the same guy who directed the 2003 Daredevil and Ghost Rider. Watching him pivot from Ben Affleck’s leather-clad angst to Kat Graham throwing olives at a man’s head is a fascinating look at the career pivots the streaming era demands.

Slapstick Sabotage and Saturated Skies

Once the double-booking is established, the film briefly devolves into a low-stakes version of The War of the Roses. The "war" over the villa is where the comedy tries to find its footing, though it often trips over its own shoelaces. There’s a sequence involving a stray cat and some intentional allergies that is—I’ll be honest—written with the logic of a Saturday morning cartoon. It’s cringe-inducing, yes, but in that specific way that makes you chuckle because you can’t believe a professional film crew spent three days lighting a scene where a man gets attacked by a feline.

However, the film finds its rhythm when it stops trying to be a slapstick farce and starts leaning into the "location porn." Verona looks breathtaking. Even if the movie treats Italian culture like a Disneyland ride staffed entirely by people who have only seen Roman Holiday, you can't deny the visual appeal. The cinematography by José David Montero turns every street corner into a postcard. It’s the kind of film designed to be played on a second screen while you’re scrolling through travel deals on your phone.

The Algorithm’s Sweetest Escape

What’s interesting about Love in the Villa is how it has already begun to slip into that "digital ghost" territory. Released during the tail-end of the pandemic travel boom, it was a massive hit for a week and then vanished into the deep scrolling abyss of the Netflix library. It’s a "forgotten oddity" of the 2020s—a film that exists because the algorithm knew we wanted "Italy + Romance + Sarcastic Brit."

There’s some fun meta-commentary hidden in the casting, too. Charlie’s high-maintenance fiancée, Cassie, is played by Laura Hopper, who is Tom Hopper’s real-life wife. Watching him have to act repulsed by his actual spouse adds a layer of unintentional comedy that kept me more engaged than the actual plot. It’s also worth noting Emilio Solfrizzi, who plays the villa owner Silvio; he’s an absolute hoot, leaning so far into the "passionate Italian" stereotype that he nearly reaches orbit.

The film doesn't ask much of you. It doesn't explore the deep trauma of a breakup or the complexities of the international wine trade. It’s essentially a 114-minute Pinterest board come to life. Is it a "good" movie? By traditional standards, probably not. But as a piece of contemporary streaming comfort food, it hits that specific spot. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a glass of cheap Prosecco: it’s bubbly, it’s a little too sweet, and you’ll forget the taste twenty minutes after you finish it, but in the moment, it’s exactly what you ordered.

If you’re looking for a film that will change your perspective on life, keep scrolling. But if you’ve had a long week and want to watch two attractive people bicker in a beautiful city before inevitably realizing they’re soulmates, this is your stop. It’s a brightly lit, harmless distraction that reminds us that even if our lives aren’t organized into Julie’s spreadsheets, we can still appreciate a well-timed sunset in Verona. Just don't expect the plot to be any more substantial than a piece of thin-crust pizza.