(Credits: Netflix)

There are bad movies. Then there are movies so bad they are good. And then comes The Kissing Booth 3, a cinematic fever dream that somehow managed to be aggressively and emotionally hollow and yet wildly watched by millions. It did not so much “conclude” the franchise as it slammed the door shut, set the booth on fire, and left us all wondering why we ever got in line in the first place.

By the time the third film dropped, we were not exactly expecting art. We just wanted closure. A little growth would’ve done. A shred of dignity for Elle Evans. But Netflix looked us in the eye and gave us a montage of beach activities while saying, “No.” And because we are masochists with an internet connection, we decided to watch it anyway.

Now let’s talk about the plot (if you want to call it that). Elle is faced with a deeply serious life decision: Harvard with the brooding boyfriend or Berkeley with the emotionally needy best friend. Now, you would expect her to sit down and actually think about her future. But our empowered 21st-century female protagonist decides the answer lies in a bucket list of childhood nonsense. She thinks doing childish things like sumo suits and ice cream races will get her to the answer. At this point, if you half-expect a scene where they time-travel using a slushie machine, that might be a sensible thing to do.

The movie moves like a chaotic Pinterest board. One second, it wants you to cry. The next is throwing in a Mario Kart-style go-kart race. There is zero tonal consistency. And yet, the most frustrating part is that underneath all the glitter and bikini shots, you can almost see what they were trying to do… almost.

Elle is supposed to be this young woman learning to choose herself. But The Kissing Booth 3 never lets her. Every moment of self-reflection is immediately hijacked by the needs of a man. Either she is trying not to hurt Lee’s feelings, or she is being emotionally ping-ponged by Noah’s temper tantrums disguised as romance. The girl cannot breathe without disappointing someone, and somehow, that is her fault.

Speaking of Noah, the human equivalent of a Spotify breakup playlist. After three movies, the only consistent character trait he has is his ability to leave mid-conversation. The brooding was cute in 2018. By the third film, it is just exhausting. And Lee? Still weaponising childhood memories like a passive-aggressive grandparent. Respectfully, grow up, man.

Then comes the six-year time jump. Because nothing says emotional resolution like skipping the entire part where people actually evolve. Everyone gets a vague adult haircut and a random job title. Elle is designing video games now, because sure, why not? Noah shows up in a suit. They smile. The motorcycle reappears like some dusty metaphor for “we still might”. And that’s it. Roll credits. No closure. Just the soft thud of a million eyes rolling in unison.

What makes The Kissing Booth 3 uniquely painful is not just that it is bad. It’s that it thinks it tries to be profound. It pretends to be about choice, identity, and independence. But really, it is a cautionary tale about trying to stretch one charming Wattpad-level romance into a full-blown trilogy. We were emotionally invested in something that was never built to carry that weight. And the third film crumpled under the pressure.

But here is the thing. For all our snark and betrayal, we still talk about it. We still rewatch the first one when we are sad. We still scream about the beach house. That ridiculous paint fight. The emotional damage disguised as character arcs. The Kissing Booth 3 broke us, but it also united us in mutual, glorious despair.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real legacy. Not the love story. Not the motorcycle. But the collective chaos of caring far too much about a movie that cared so little about us.