‘Lovesick’ (2026) Netflix Series Review - A Predictable, Emotionless, and Exhausting Romance

The new Netflix series Lovesick (or Mal de Amores) consists of what can be referred to as the "low-hanging fruit of YA tropes." By this I mean that it's one of those streaming shows about a young, professionally driven woman who ends up torn between two lovers (other relatively new entries that focus on such a formula are Sterling Point and My Brilliant Career). It can feel as if every creator sat in a room together and came up with a singular idea regarding "women's empowerment" through a love-triangle formula. It's surely nice to see female characters in a conventional setting challenging patriarchal notions, but all these OTT romances have now begun to resemble each other. You might as well swap Emilia Sauri (Renata Vaca) with Netflix's Sybylla Melvyn by applying a few minor tweaks, and I don't think anyone will notice the difference. Sure, Lovesick has its political setting, dealing with the Mexican Revolution, but this political dimension is rendered equivalent to a worn-out teddy bear, given that the civil-war carnage pops up in almost frictionless conversations and textureless, horror-less sights of bodies lying on the ground, while the political debates merely function as exposition.

Do we still require one-dimensional characters like an archbishop who spews sexist nonsense tailor-made to trigger feminists on screen as well as off? Such fictional creations have become little more than cartoon caricatures that, more often than not, elicit fewer intense reactions and more intense yawns. The misogynistic insults, meanwhile, are so garden-variety that they don't really push your buttons. It's very evident what shows like these want from their viewers. They are preprocessed, preplanned, and pre-digested, and their calculations and manipulative tricks exist in the open. It is, for instance, extremely noticeable what Lovesick has in store for Jacinta and her boyfriend/lover/soon-to-be-husband, whom Emilia comes across (again) after first marrying Daniel (Juan Pablo Fuentes). There is even a foreshadowing scene in which the boyfriend risks his life by chasing some dangerous men. The bigger problem, though, is not the predictability as much as the fact that the two characters are barely brought to life with rich backstories or wide-ranging conversations (Jacinta develops an interest in medicine and Emilia promises to teach her, though how much she learns from the latter is never made apparent). And so, you remain motionless when they meet their maker.

Then again, you remain unmoved for most of Lovesick's duration. Except for some sex scenes, nothing is filmed with interest, attention, or passion. The love triangle, too, doesn't generate palpable romantic or sexual tension. Emilia is head-over-heels in love with Daniel, so much so that she sacrifices the fame she could have gotten much, much earlier in her field if, rather than running after or searching for Daniel, she had stayed in America. However, it's not Emilia's love or mad dedication that comes through when she chases Daniel. I wouldn't be surprised if people started attacking Emilia for running after Daniel because he looks quite uninteresting and unremarkable, even though he takes part in all types of ideological meetings and is conventionally handsome. The thing about Daniel is that his identity is tightly dependent on the politics of the time, which the show doesn't flesh out well. Rebels fight against the regime, revolutions happen, people die, leaders are changed, and Lovesick brings these developments to the foreground with expository conversations, newspaper headlines, and images of a sea of corpses, all of which detachedly signify what has happened instead of giving a profound, first-person voice to the political developments. This means Daniel, who is completely defined by the politics, suffers too, looking like an obstacle hindering Emilia's personal as well as professional progress.

If Antonio (Iván Amozurrutia) manages to fare a little better, that's because he is saved by his gentlemanly kindness. In front of an egotistical Daniel, he becomes an ideal man—a perfect partner and perfect marriage material. I can already see more Team Antonios than Team Daniels, but does it matter? To be honest, I was never invested in either Lovesick's politics or romance. At its core, it suffers from the same old issue that infects other shows on all these streaming services: the images are indifferently composed, and the long runtime is utilized not as a wide canvas but as an opportunity to cram in or cover as many events as possible. Of course, there are going to be elisions, though what's problematic is that these "elisions" give rise to a series that flies through many developments. The camera is used as a literal device for page-to-screen translation (there is no drama in the images), while certain incidents, like Emilia getting her diploma, unfold so quickly and cover a very long period of time so swiftly that the result is simply devoid of emotions, stakes, or cinematic achievement. "Cinematic achievement," anyway, is the very last thing a show like Lovesick aims for.

Perhaps it could have at the very least retained the title of being "watchable" if it had not separated Emilia from her family members for long, long stretches. Her family includes her father Diego (Miguel Rodarte), her mother Josefa (Diana Bovio), and her aunt Milagros (Cassandra Ciangherotti). Bovio and Ciangherotti (and especially Ciangherotti) are fun to watch alongside Vaca, as their characters leave the men around them speechless with their actions as well as comebacks. And there's also some pleasure—if minor—in seeing varied, good performances together bouncing against the wall of the frames. When Emilia leaves her house, she is put in the presence of much less interesting people, and the performances don't really jell with each other. There is nothing to hold on to, so Lovesick further sinks into the pit of monotony and boredom. There is no single tone unifying or guiding the events. Everything remains fragmented and at a distance. Hence, when Lovesick jumps in time to the late 1960s, the leap doesn't just feel abrupt; we are not even sure what to make of the attempt at, I guess, surrealism? An older Emilia looks across the room and sees her parents and her lovers and a younger version of herself playing with Daniel. But given that the preceding scene doesn't answer some basic questions, such as whether Milagros succumbs to a tumor or dies a natural death (it's never made clear, though I do think I should bet on the former), you are left scratching your head, wondering which character is imaginary and which is real. Lovesick reaches for a feeling of bittersweetness, though it only dispenses a vague sense of melancholy that's not fully defined or properly earned. It's an abrupt ending—one that, after almost seven hours of tedium, is nonetheless welcomed with relief, not sadness. Maybe, then, it's fair to say that Lovesick doesn't make you fall in love with it. Rather, it makes you "sick" for all the wrong reasons.