This review may contain spoilers
Anatomy of a Romanticized Trauma (Worse in adaptation, but certainly better than the series)
After the series I thought the worst was over. And yet no: Love Syndrome: The Beginning takes the toxicity of Love Syndrome III and turns it into a 90-minute film that is neither a true prequel nor a sequel, but an operation of “alternative reconstruction.” A sort of “what if” disguised as an official movie. A product that, on paper, could have remedied the mistakes of the series. In practice? Not only does it not correct them: it condenses them, amplifies them, and sells them as great cinema.
= A film that doesn’t clarify, but complicates
The title suggests a return to the origins, but in reality the film is nothing more than a romanticized re-cut of the same dynamics already seen: Gear/Night on one side and Day/Itt on the other.
And while the first couple has moments of real tension and palpable attraction, the second repeats the same toxic pattern without any filter. It’s as if someone had taken the most violent and problematic scenes from the series, lined them up one after the other, and said: “Here’s the cursed love you’ve all been waiting for.”
SPOILER RED ZONE
Day and Itt: trauma as spectacle
The relationship between the two is not built: it’s thrown at the viewer in crude scenes, without context, without progression. The film doesn’t show why or how the two should love each other: it just insists on Day’s obsession and Itt’s surrender, in a visual loop of violence disguised as passion.
The scene of total control
Day decides for Itt, strips him of autonomy, isolates him. There are no nuances: the message is clear, “you are mine.” And instead of treating this as the lowest point of the relationship, the film decorates it with a romantic aesthetic. Soft lighting, languid close-ups, background music. It’s emotional pornography of dependency.
Gear and Night as a decoy
Their story is more interesting, more sensual, more authentic. But it only serves as a distraction: the counterpoint that makes the brutality of Day/Itt’s relationship even more evident. The viewer is forced to compare, and every time the toxic relationship emerges more sick and more forced.
= Psychology reduced to clichés
Day: still the classic romanticized abuser. The film gives him more aesthetic space (heroic framing, “protective” gestures), but psychologically nothing changes. It’s still control, jealousy, manipulation. Just better packaged.
Itt: doesn’t grow, doesn’t react, doesn’t reclaim his voice. He endures. His surrender is total, and the film sells it as loyalty and patience. It’s the very negation of a character’s autonomy.
Gear and Night: the only glimmer of authenticity, but used as contrast and filler.
= Why it hurts even more
If the series was slow and diluted, the film is a concentrate. In 90 minutes you get no break: you’re bombarded with toxic dynamics without respite, without critical context, without even the pauses that let you reflect. It’s a compression that brings not intensity, but nausea.
And above all, the psychological impact is devastating:
If you’ve experienced abuse, it’s a constant trigger, packaged as a love story.
If you haven’t, you risk normalizing it: you learn that love = jealousy, possession, submission, total surrender.
= Conclusion
Love Syndrome: The Beginning is not a prequel, not a clarification, not a useful addition. It’s the same toxic story from the series, compressed, polished, and served as if it were the “true” heart of the saga.
A film that offers neither redemption nor reflection, but just another celebration of abuse as passion.
It’s not love. It never will be. It’s acceptance, dependency, annihilation.
The same sick fairytale, but in a useless, toxic “director’s cut” version.
= A film that doesn’t clarify, but complicates
The title suggests a return to the origins, but in reality the film is nothing more than a romanticized re-cut of the same dynamics already seen: Gear/Night on one side and Day/Itt on the other.
And while the first couple has moments of real tension and palpable attraction, the second repeats the same toxic pattern without any filter. It’s as if someone had taken the most violent and problematic scenes from the series, lined them up one after the other, and said: “Here’s the cursed love you’ve all been waiting for.”
SPOILER RED ZONE
Day and Itt: trauma as spectacle
The relationship between the two is not built: it’s thrown at the viewer in crude scenes, without context, without progression. The film doesn’t show why or how the two should love each other: it just insists on Day’s obsession and Itt’s surrender, in a visual loop of violence disguised as passion.
The scene of total control
Day decides for Itt, strips him of autonomy, isolates him. There are no nuances: the message is clear, “you are mine.” And instead of treating this as the lowest point of the relationship, the film decorates it with a romantic aesthetic. Soft lighting, languid close-ups, background music. It’s emotional pornography of dependency.
Gear and Night as a decoy
Their story is more interesting, more sensual, more authentic. But it only serves as a distraction: the counterpoint that makes the brutality of Day/Itt’s relationship even more evident. The viewer is forced to compare, and every time the toxic relationship emerges more sick and more forced.
= Psychology reduced to clichés
Day: still the classic romanticized abuser. The film gives him more aesthetic space (heroic framing, “protective” gestures), but psychologically nothing changes. It’s still control, jealousy, manipulation. Just better packaged.
Itt: doesn’t grow, doesn’t react, doesn’t reclaim his voice. He endures. His surrender is total, and the film sells it as loyalty and patience. It’s the very negation of a character’s autonomy.
Gear and Night: the only glimmer of authenticity, but used as contrast and filler.
= Why it hurts even more
If the series was slow and diluted, the film is a concentrate. In 90 minutes you get no break: you’re bombarded with toxic dynamics without respite, without critical context, without even the pauses that let you reflect. It’s a compression that brings not intensity, but nausea.
And above all, the psychological impact is devastating:
If you’ve experienced abuse, it’s a constant trigger, packaged as a love story.
If you haven’t, you risk normalizing it: you learn that love = jealousy, possession, submission, total surrender.
= Conclusion
Love Syndrome: The Beginning is not a prequel, not a clarification, not a useful addition. It’s the same toxic story from the series, compressed, polished, and served as if it were the “true” heart of the saga.
A film that offers neither redemption nor reflection, but just another celebration of abuse as passion.
It’s not love. It never will be. It’s acceptance, dependency, annihilation.
The same sick fairytale, but in a useless, toxic “director’s cut” version.
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