Lonely Planet

The movie

Netflix suggested it to me so I thought I’d watch it.

At an idyllic writers’ retreat in Morocco, a newly single novelist finds an unexpected connection with a younger man who’s reevaluating his life’s choices.

I only read the first few words — writers’ retreat — Morocco — and I thought it might be an ok movie. I didn’t recognise the lead characters. It’s official — I have prosopagnosia. I had to look them up when the movie finished.

She looked old and not particularly attractive, and he looked younger and easy on the eye. Maybe that was the appeal? I always visualise myself with a younger man — I can dream, can’t I?

I picked inconsistencies in the story. They saw goats in trees — yes this is possible — but only on the road between Essaouira and Marrakech — and the next minute they are in Chefchaouen — the Blue City over 700 kilometers away, but you wouldn’t know that if you hadn’t driven around Morocco. It received 5.7 stars on IMDb and I’d only give it slightly more.

Did I believe it could happen? Always my test of good fiction whether a novel or a movie. Well, no I didn’t. And if you tell me it was based on a true story, I’ll just go crawl back into my wombat hole.

Don’t let my opinion sway you. I’m not a film critic.

Thanks for reading.

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