Nika

The Summer I Turned Pretty drags us through a coming-of-age story that desperately clings to beach vibes and love triangles as if they’re the only things holding it afloat. At the center of this drippy drama is Belly Conklin, whose entire personality seems to revolve around two boys and a lot of blushing. Imagine every teenage cliché thrown together like seashells in a hasty sandcastle, and that’s the plot. Each summer, Belly finds herself entangled in a lukewarm romance with two painfully underwhelming brothers who seem to be in a perpetual contest to see who can act moodier. Conrad is the dark, brooding, sensitive type (translation: he mopes a lot), and Jeremiah is the sweet, easy-going one (translation: also mopes, but in a lighter way). Belly spends the whole story agonizing over which of these two near-identical personalities she should choose, while somehow turning every minuscule moment into something with the dramatic weight of a Shakespearean tragedy. And yet, for all the emotional monologues, most of her inner turmoil feels about as deep as a kiddie pool. The dialogue? It might as well be written by a high schooler trying to imitate what they think relationships sound like, with every line trying so hard to be heart-wrenching that it’s actually laughable. Every “meaningful” glance between Belly and Conrad feels more like they’re trying to see who blinks first than actually conveying emotion. And just when you think there might be some actual character development, we’re forced back into yet another love triangle with stakes as high as a sand dune. Even the beach setting gets tiresome, like a postcard you’re forced to stare at endlessly. There's only so much "sun-kissed nostalgia" that can be squeezed out of one plot before it begins to feel like we’re all trapped in a perpetual summer purgatory where nothing of consequence ever happens.