They say all love letters are ridiculous, and perhaps they are — especially the ones never sent, existing only as silent confessions written for someone unaware of their role in this emotional theater. Yet, what’s most revealing about these writings isn’t what they declare, but what they withhold. To write to someone you love what you wouldn’t even dare think aloud takes a kind of bravery reserved for the acutely self-aware — or the utterly lovestruck. And while romanticism may bloom freely in youthful impulse, genuine love demands emotional structure, as Nelson Rodrigues sharply observed when mocking the haste with which the young fall in love. There’s an existential weight to it: before any act of giving, one must be able to sustain their own affection — and that’s a lesson learned late.
Through this lens, we meet Lara Jean Song Covey, the protagonist of “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before”, whose emotional journey is shaped not by the presence of others, but by their absence. She doesn’t dive into love impulsively; instead, she lives it as rehearsal, as private writing drafted in the shadows. Her deepest feelings are sealed within letters never mailed, kept in a memory box inherited from her late mother. Lara Jean is the embodiment of intimacy that matures quietly. And if the universe conspires to expose this secret, it does so not with cruelty but as a trigger for the inevitable collision between fantasy and reality — that moment when innocence is tested by the unpredictability of desire.
The story, based on Jenny Han’s novel and scripted by Han alongside Sofia Alvarez, grasps that teenage drama doesn’t reside in loud declarations, but in subtle tremors: a misread glance, an intercepted letter, a tender gesture mistaken for affection. Director Susan Johnson skillfully captures this universe of quiet emotional codes with metalinguistic touches that go beyond narrative. A scene where Lara and her younger sister Kitty watch “The Golden Girls” isn’t incidental — it evokes a transgenerational female solidarity, suggesting that despite her youth, Lara already senses the emotional intricacies that lie ahead.
That foresight, however, doesn’t shield her from the messiness of passion. Josh, her sister’s ex-boyfriend, reappears in her thoughts, while Peter, once involved with her former friend Gen, unexpectedly stirs her interest. When all the boys from her secret letters return almost theatrically, as if summoned by an accidental spell, Lara Jean sees her carefully guarded world unravel. This fusion of fantasy and reality doesn’t merely expose her — it transforms her. The girl who once wrote to avoid feeling now feels too deeply to write. Her emotional vocabulary, once confined to paper, now confronts her in the flesh.
Lana Condor brings a delicate precision to the protagonist, moving between vulnerability and restraint. Israel Broussard and Noah Centineo inhabit their roles with balance, never reducing the story to a battle of charm. Among the three, there’s a performance style rooted less in grand gestures and more in quiet nuance — a withheld smile, a faltering phrase, a meaningful silence. Emilija Baranac, as Gen, delivers an antagonist role tinged with both predictability and subtle complexity, echoing classic rom-com rivals without descending into caricature.
What elevates this story beyond the bounds of a typical teen romance is its recognition of the value of what remains unfinished. The letters aren’t mere narrative devices — they’re the stage where Lara Jean learns to articulate her feelings. And perhaps love, like those letters, only reveals its true force when handled with the reverence reserved for fragile things. In this light, love isn’t something to be shouted to the world, but something first to be heard within oneself. Emotional maturity, in the end, may not mean loving more, but loving better — with clarity, with awe, with silence. And maybe, with a letter that never needs to be sent.
Film: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before
Director: Susan Johnson
Year: 2018
Genre: Comedy/Romance
Rating: 8/10