Cazzie David and Elisa Kalani’s I Love You Forever is a rom-com that starts with a meet-cute and ends somewhere between a panic attack and a therapy session. It’s a millennial fever dream of dating disasters, emotional manipulation, and the kind of love that makes you question your own taste in men. The film opens with Mackenzie (Sofia Black-D’Elia), a law student with a vague sense of purpose and a hookup buddy who treats her like a footnote. Enter Finn (Ray Nicholson), a charming TV news reporter who sweeps her off her feet with grand gestures and just enough vulnerability to seem real.
At first, Finn is the answer to every rom-com fantasy Mackenzie’s ever absorbed. He books out restaurants, sends thoughtful texts, and listens—really listens. But soon, the listening turns into monitoring, the affection into control. Mackenzie’s world shrinks to fit Finn’s needs, and the film shifts from quirky romance to psychological chokehold. Black-D’Elia plays Mackenzie with a quiet desperation that’s both relatable and unnerving. She’s not clueless—just caught in a loop of wanting to be loved and fearing what that love demands.
Nicholson’s Finn is a masterclass in emotional abuse with a smile. He’s not a monster in the traditional sense—he’s worse. He’s the kind of guy who makes you feel guilty for having friends, who weaponizes vulnerability, and who turns every moment into a test of loyalty. The film doesn’t rush this transformation; it lets it seep in slowly, like water damage. By the time Mackenzie’s friends—Ally (Cazzie David) and Lucas (Jon Rudnitsky)—start raising alarms, she’s already too deep to hear them clearly.
David and Kalani’s script is sharp, funny, and terrifying in equal measure. The dialogue snaps with Instagram-era wit, but the emotional core is raw. There’s a scene where Mackenzie overshares with Finn, and instead of recoiling, he uses it to tighten his grip. It’s a moment that feels both absurd and painfully familiar. The film’s low-budget roots show in its limited locations and sparse set design, but that almost works in its favor—Mackenzie’s world is small because Finn made it that way.
Michael Penn’s synth-heavy score and a soundtrack featuring Miley Cyrus’ “Flowers” give the film a glossy emotional sheen, even when the visuals feel stripped down. The music is the one area where the film doesn’t cut corners, and it helps elevate scenes that might otherwise feel too claustrophobic. Still, there are moments where the direction falters—some shots feel rushed, and a few dramatic beats land with more force than finesse.
The cast is used effectively, though some supporting roles feel more like emotional wallpaper than fully fleshed-out characters. Raymond Cham Jr. and Oliver Cooper provide texture, but it’s David and Rudnitsky who bring the most life to the margins. Their friendship with Mackenzie is messy, funny, and occasionally heartbreaking. Ashley Marie Jones as the Hotel Manager is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it presence, but she adds a touch of weary realism to the chaos.
The plot succeeds not because it’s surprising, but because it’s honest. We know where this is going, but watching Mackenzie get there is the point. The theme of toxic romance is handled with nuance—David and Kalani don’t preach, they observe. They show how easy it is to mistake control for care, and how shame can keep someone tethered to a person who’s slowly erasing them.
Compared to other romantic thrillers or genre rewrites like Fair Play or Promising Young Woman, I Love You Forever is less stylized and more emotionally grounded. It doesn’t rely on twists—it relies on truth. And while it shares no DNA with the I Know What You Did Last Summer series, it does offer its own kind of horror: the slow realization that the person you love might be the one undoing you.
It’s a hit-and-miss affair, but the hits sting in all the right ways. Black-D’Elia is magnetic, and David’s direction—though uneven—feels personal and urgent. I Love You Forever isn’t just a movie; it’s a mirror held up to every bad relationship you tried to laugh your way through.
Grade B+. Streaming on Max.
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