Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Through My Window’ on Netflix, a Hot-‘n’-Sexy Angsty-Teen Romance

It’s tempting to call Netflix’s Through My Window a YA adaptation, but this Spanish teen romance features enough WHOA NELLY to put it firmly in the A camp. The movie’s based on a steamy Spanish-language novel by Ariana Godoy, a Venezuela-via-North Carolina romance writer who appears to be chasing the money that lies in the demographic nether between Fifty Shades and The Fault in Our Stars. The movie has plenty of OOMPH, if you know what I mean, but does it have enough of anything else to make it stand out among other young-love dramedies of its ilk? Let’s find out.

THROUGH MY WINDOW: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: Raquel (Clara Galle) is a senior in high school with a knack for writing, but she lacks the confidence to let anyone read it. This is an important detail, because it renders her something more than just an empty head hovering over a roiling pot of hormones that boils for the slab of meat who lives next door: Ares (Julio Pena), as in the God of War, a real son of the rich who lives in a mansion and works out like mad and apparently walks around with his butt out often enough to merit us seeing it in the film’s opening moments. IF ONLY RAQUEL COULD SEE THAT BUTT. She sees everything else, stalking his Insta and such and saving all the photos on her hard drive, and staring at him from under the bleachers as he does shirtless workouts at futbol practice, and following him to the cemetery on a rainy day. Real healthy obsession you got there, Raquel. Might wanna see someone about that.

But guess what? He knows. Ares is well aware that she lusts after him like a horndog to another dog. There’s a convoluted contrivance where he steals her wifi and they have a heated exchange, and then he confronts her after the cemetery stalkery. It’s worth noting that Ares has rammed (get it?) many ewes in his short existence, and his brothers Apolo (Hugo Arbues) and Artemis (Eric Masip) – somebody stop their parents from having another boy and naming him Argo – and their family handler Sofia (Rachel Lascar) enable his womanizing. So he sees Raquel as another conquest, and cruelly/teasingly calls her “witch.” All is fair in war and love, y’know.

So Ares teases bookish Raquel until her inner Aphrodite emerges, then leaves her dangling. But she’s no mouse in the library. She stands up for herself until he puts his mouth on her and then she puddles on the floor right there in front of us. Then she reciprocates the tease and, before you know it, smash-o-rama, right there on his pool table. Raquel has a couple of friends, Daniela (Natalia Azahara), a party-hardy type, and Yoshi (Guillermo Lasheras), a lanky fella who wishes their friendship wasn’t so damn platonic. Soon enough, it may come to pass that the god walking here on the earth might have actual feelings, and the quiet writer girl may have enough substance within her to inspire him to share them. But as the wise man once said, IF ONLY IT WERE SO SIMPLE.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: For a minute, the interactions between Ares and Raquel are so creepy and contentious, one wonders if this is a riff on the ol’ I-was-engaged-to-a-serial-killer plot, or if Ares is secretly a Twilight vampire or some such ancient immortal being. But what it boils down to is a generic Nicolas Sparks romance, albeit angst-ridden like Bella ‘n’ Edward were, and with HEAPS and HEAPS of rutting in it, like Christian and Anastasia, sans the ballgags and such.

Performance Worth Watching: Getting some Dakota Johnson she’s-more-capable-than-the-material vibes from Clara Galle, who brings to mind Evan Rachel Wood’s earnest tones, and probably deserves a movie of greater import.

Memorable Dialogue: Raquel, writing of her experiences with Ares: “We were told that love smells like roses. Truth is, it smells like chlorine.” (Trust me, it almost makes sense when taken in context.)

Sex and Skin: Oh golly. Raquel and Ares get topless and bottomless (but not quite frontal) as they do it hither and yon and up there and way up there and in a bathroom stall (gross!) and, and, and. Rabbits probably do it less than these two. Hey, good for them, here’s hoping they stay properly hydrated.

Our Take: Through My Window sucks in the way teenagers generally suck, since they haven’t figured out diddly-squat and are self-obsessed, inarticulate i the ways of the heart and mired in banal angst. Which isn’t to say there’s much in the way of realism in Raquel and Ares’ stormy relationship, because they soon find themselves in a plot that contrives a laughable high-drama tragedy that puts everything into proper context deep in the third act, rendering their past interpersonal malfeasances and various immaturities utterly moot. So perhaps this story is a paean to young love and lust, although I suspect, despite the seriously non-campy nature in which this material is presented, nobody will really take it seriously. I roll my eyes in its general direction.

But, you may ask, is it HAWT? There’s no denying the two leads are attractive, but they’re either stuck in the muck of this uninspired material, or lack the chemistry to elevate it. I never really felt a surge of empathy or concern for their pining, for Ares’ parental woes tied to rich-people-family expectations (hey guess what, they own a gigantic corporation), for Raquel’s inability to let other people read what she writes (really, who cares?), or for whatever else they have going on, which, frankly, in this thin screenplay, is not much at all. There’s enough absentee parenting of the type that’s convenient for teenagers to find plenty of time to stick their faces and junk in each other’s places, and then at the end, a sequence set at prom, ugh, just ugh. The film plays all of this straight and seems uninterested in inspiring even a single laugh, intentionally or otherwise. Bottom line, it’s at best vaguely romantic, and no fun on any level.

Our Call: DEFENESTRATED! SKIP IT.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Read more of his work at johnserbaatlarge.com.