Love Hurts

Directed by Jonathan Eusebio

★★½

BylineAllen Fraser/Universal PicturesCaption(from left) Marvin Gable (Ke Huy Quan) and Rose Carlisle (Ariana DeBose) in Love Hurts, directed by Jonathan Eusebio.Copyright© Universal Studios. All Rights Reserved.

Love Hurts—and so does sitting through it.

With two Oscar winners at its center, Ke Huy Quan and Ariana DeBose, this slick, high-concept action-romcom had every reason to work. On paper, it sounds like a pulpy thrill ride: a former criminal-turned-realtor gets pulled back into the life he thought he left behind when his old partner resurfaces with a cryptic warning, and his estranged, crime-lord brother shows up looking for blood. Throw in a romantic subplot, a ticking clock, and a few neon-lit fight scenes, and you’d expect something along the lines of Bullet Train or Nobody—punchy, playful, and packed with energy. Instead, Love Hurts is a flat, muddled mess that fails to deliver on any of its genre promises.

Ke Huy Quan plays Marvin, a soft-spoken real estate agent whose quiet suburban life is upended when Rose (Ariana DeBose), his former partner in both crime and romance, re-enters his life with a warning. His brother—now a powerful, vengeful underworld figure—wants something buried deep in their past. The setup should crackle with tension and intrigue, but it never quite gets off the ground. Instead, what unfolds is a series of half-hearted action sequences, exposition-heavy conversations, and dramatic flashbacks that feel more obligatory than compelling.

Quan gives the role his full commitment, bringing the same earnest physicality and emotional nuance that won him acclaim in previous roles. But even he can’t overcome a script that seems unsure of its own tone. Is this a violent redemption story? A dark comedy? A second-chance love story? The film gestures toward all of these but never embraces any of them fully. It simply coasts through genre tropes without grounding them in character or purpose.

Ariana DeBose brings a necessary spark, and she does her best to energize a script that doesn’t give her much to chew on. Her chemistry with Quan is serviceable, but the emotional stakes of their reunion feel undercooked. The film gestures toward a tragic backstory, a betrayal, and some kind of shared trauma, but it’s all handled in a rushed, surface-level way. As a result, the central relationship lacks the depth needed to justify the dramatic weight the film tries to place on it.

Visually, the film has some polish. The direction is competent, and the color palette leans into stylized grit. But the action scenes are forgettable, relying on generic choreography and quick-cut editing that lacks rhythm or impact. And at under 90 minutes, the film feels not tight but underdeveloped—like a second draft that needed more time in the oven.

Worst of all, Love Hurts is missing the very thing its title implies: heart. There’s no emotional core, no investment in the characters’ journeys, and no moment where the film truly connects. It tries to be cool, tries to be moving, and tries to be fun—but never succeeds at any one of them.

Despite the star power and potential, Love Hurts feels like a film trying very hard to be something it's not. It aims for style and ends up hollow. For a movie about pain, it lands with no impact at all.