‘Flower Girl’ (2025) Netflix Movie Review - A Wild, Weird, and Weirdly Wise Cursed Rom-Com

Watching Flower Girl feels like being strapped into a chaotic theme-park ride designed by a sleep-deprived comedian with a degree in gender studies. I laughed, I winced, I questioned my life choices, and I admired the absolute audacity of its premise. It’s bold, messy, smart, juvenile, heartfelt, and gloriously strange. And somehow, despite all this, it manages to tie its absurdity to something meaningful.

Sue Ramirez plays Ena, a wildly self-absorbed sanitary-pad endorser whose world is built on vanity, brand deals, and a slightly alarming attachment to her own anatomy. She defines her identity with an intensity that’s both funny and mildly concerning. One unfortunate night, she insults a trans woman, who also happens to be a magical fairy-babaylan—and bam: curse activated. Ena wakes up without her vagina, a revelation she processes with the maturity of a child discovering their ice cream fell on the floor. Instead of breaking down, she launches into denial, panic, and delusion in very entertaining proportions.

The curse comes with a twist: Ena is given a magical flower whose petals fall one by one, ticking down the time she has left to find genuine love. Not Instagrammable “soft launch” romance. Not superficial validation. Actual love. It’s a delightfully ridiculous setup, but it works because the movie commits so hard to its premise. The flower becomes both a timer and a mirror, forcing Ena to confront the parts of herself she’s been avoiding for years.

Ramirez’s performance is easily the best thing about the film. She plays Ena as flawed, insecure, and hilariously unaware, yet she injects enough humanity to keep us rooting for her even when she’s being unbearably shallow. It’s impressive watching her lean fully into the absurdity while still finding moments of vulnerability. She carries the comedy and the emotional arc with surprising ease.

KaladKaren, as the trans-fairy who curses Ena, is electric. Her scenes are some of the most memorable—funny, sharp, and delivered with a confidence that borders on theatrical but never crosses into parody. She anchors the film’s message without turning into a walking moral lecture. That balance is harder than it looks.

Then there’s Mel (also called Miko), Ena’s assistant, played with warmth and intelligence. Mel acts as both her conscience and her chaos-management system. The two have great chemistry, and their evolving relationship feels like the movie’s emotional backbone. Mel brings a grounded understanding of gender and identity, offering the story a sense of sincerity amidst all the magical absurdity. She’s the voice of reason in a film that often abandons reason for comedic effect.

Visually, Flower Girl is playful and polished. The movie embraces bright, candy-colored scenes early on to reflect Ena’s superficial lifestyle. As her internal struggles deepen, the visuals subtly shift, nothing too dramatic, but enough to show that the film’s aesthetic is tied to her emotional state. It’s clever without being distracting.
The direction leans heavily into magical realism, but it never becomes pretentious. Instead, the film uses fantasy elements to exaggerate real human flaws: egotism, insecurity, and ignorance. The combination of slapstick humor, heartfelt moments, and surreal curses gives the film a unique personality. At its best, it feels like a satire that somehow grew a beating heart.

Still, this cinematic fever dream isn’t perfect. The first big issue is pacing. At just over an hour, the movie barely gives itself enough space to explore the emotional transformation it demands from Ena. She jumps from oblivious and self-centered to empathetic and introspective a little too quickly. It’s not that the growth is unbelievable; it’s just compressed.

The second issue is that some of the film’s messaging, while important, occasionally feels shoved into scenes rather than woven naturally. There are moments where the dialogue edges into “public service announcement” territory. The intent is noble, and the delivery isn’t heavy-handed, but you definitely notice when the film pauses its story to explain something. It’s not a dealbreaker, but it can feel slightly clunky.

Ena herself is another mixed bag. She’s supposed to be irritating—she’s privileged, oblivious, and obsessed with her image. And while that’s funny most of the time, there are scenes where her narcissism crosses from humorous into exhausting. By the time she’s naming her missing vagina “Poochy” and spiraling into melodramatic monologues, you may want to shake her gently. Or not so gently.

Some of the fantasy mechanics also feel thrown together. The curse works when the movie wants it to work, and the rules of the magical flower are… flexible. It’s whimsical, sure, but also a little inconsistent. You’re not meant to take the worldbuilding too seriously, but occasionally you can’t help wondering if someone forgot to finish writing the mythology.
Even with these issues, though, the film shines in its weird bravery. It tackles identity, acceptance, prejudice, and self-love using humor instead of preaching. It’s not afraid to make the audience uncomfortable, and it’s not scared to look ridiculous in the process. That kind of risk-taking is rare in mainstream romantic comedies.

When Flower Girl hits, it hits hard. It’s funny in a way that makes you snort at the wrong moments. It’s thoughtful in ways you don’t expect. And it manages to turn a completely absurd premise into something strangely touching. It isn't perfect, but its imperfections give it charm. It’s a messy, vibrant, loud little film that knows exactly what it wants to say, even when it stumbles getting there.

By the time the last petal drops, you’ve not only watched Ena’s bizarre journey—you’ve accidentally learned something too. And you’ve definitely laughed more than you planned to.

Final Score- [6.5/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times