‘Voicemails for Isabelle’ is a love letter to millennials
Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter.
Here’s a confession: I haven’t picked up a new rom-com in a while.
I feel the need to say this because I used to devour them from the late ’90s well into the ’10s. I still revisit my favorites, but I eventually realized I’d stopped getting excited for new releases—despite virtually unlimited access to new media.
That’s not to say I no longer have a soft spot for grand declarations, "organic encounters," and happy endings. Between trying to cut down my screen time and tackling an ever-growing watch list, I just don't feel a compelling need to watch them anymore. So when I started Voicemails for Isabelle after mindlessly scrolling for something to fill an hour on the walking pad, I was pleasantly surprised.
Jill (Zoey Deutch), a woman coping with the loss of her sister Isabelle (Ciara Bravo), continues to leave rambling voicemails on her old number for months, unaware that it’s since been recycled. Wes (Nick Robinson), who becomes the number’s new owner, ends up accidentally listening to her unfiltered confessions. Soon enough, he becomes invested in her chaotic life.
Sure, it’s an unconventional (even creepy) meet-cute in the era of Bumble and Tinder. Though I found myself glossing over Wes invading Jill’s privacy not because it reminds me of You’ve Got Mail, but because the characters and their lives felt familiar. I didn’t grow up in Texas or pursue my passion as a career in San Francisco, but I knew exactly when these people grew up.
Deutch posed a fun question on Instagram in promotion of the film: “Our movie is a love letter to A) sisters, B) Nick Robinson, C) San Francisco, or D) all of the above.” I propose to add an unlisted choice: millennials.
And here is where I say, yes, it felt very millennial. I only say “felt” because Voicemails doesn’t even take a beat to explain it. It just feels written for our generation.
As millennials, we were raised in a unique time in history. We grew up alongside technology instead of being born into it. We experienced how communication evolved with it in real time. Every few years, the platform changed. And we may not have had voicemail, but we’ve shared (sometimes, fought for) time on the landline, learned “txtspk” to fit our messages in a standard 160-character SMS, buzzed our best friend on Yahoo! Messenger when they’re not replying, found validation in Friendster testimonials, and spilled our guts on LiveJournal or Xanga, until the dawn of Facebook, Tumblr, Viber…you get it.
The movie wears this monoculture lightly. In Jill’s many (very valid) trentahin crashouts to Isabelle on call and on voicemail, she references A Walk to Remember and The Notebook, and dances to Robyn, among many other very millennial quirks. She’s relatable, but she doesn’t pander to the usual stereotypes that Gen Zs and Alphas find cringe in millennials. Jill and Wes are just adults figuring out life between responsibility, disappointment, and grief.
And this is where the movie quietly shifts from an offbeat rom-com to something more reflective.
Voicemails understands what adulthood has become for many millennials, so it’s less about “Will they end up together?” and more about navigating what’s next after life has fundamentally changed your core.
With the youngest of our generation already in their 30s, most of us have reached the stage in our lives where our group chats are just as likely to be about going to an annual physical as they are about planning a fifth trip to Japan. We’ve celebrated promotions, weddings, and pregnancies and mourned the loss of hopes, dreams, and loved ones. We’ve lost parents and grandparents who raised us; some siblings, friends, and even children. Others are grieving relationships, versions of themselves, or chapters of life they’ll never get back. We’re in a season that can feel like you’re stuck while life is moving at 100 km a minute.
That’s what makes Jill’s grief feel less like a plot device and more like a reflection of where many millennials are in life today.
But Voicemails for Isabelle doesn’t ask us to move on. Instead, it suggests that healing from loss isn’t necessarily about letting go. Sometimes, it’s about finding a new way to carry grief. For millennials, that idea feels especially bittersweet. We’re the first generation whose memories didn’t disappear into dusty photo albums and boxes. Our past—at least, some of it—still exists in old Messenger threads, tagged Facebook photos, archived emails, and mobile numbers we’ve forgotten or can’t quite bring ourselves to delete.
That’s why Voicemails for Isabelle resonates with millennials.
Besides the fantasy of the meet-cute and the happily-ever-after, the story understands that growing older means learning to make room for both love and loss. It doesn’t pretend one erases the other.
Maybe that’s why this was the first new rom-com I liked in a long time. After watching, I quickly realized it wasn’t trying to recreate the movies we grew up loving. It understood the people who grew up watching them instead.