The relationships begin when the boys are 15 (though the actors are clearly adults, which softens the ick factor). The narrative glosses over the inherent power imbalance and potential for psychological damage with surprising speed. Instead of a gritty exploration of abuse or manipulation, Adore presents the affairs as almost natural—a kind of logical, beautiful extension of the friends’ intense bond. The lack of societal judgment (the small town seems oddly oblivious) robs the story of tension it desperately needs.

Rating: ⭐⭐½ (2.5/5)

Adore is less about love and more about selfishness. It asks whether a lifelong friendship can survive when both parties decide to burn the rulebook of motherhood together. The answer the film gives is haunting, but getting there requires a hefty suspension of disbelief.

The central issue with Adore is that it never quite decides what it wants to say. Does it want to be a serious drama about grief, loneliness, and the blurred lines between maternal and romantic love? Or is it a glossy, soft-core fantasy about older women and younger men? The film straddles both lanes uncomfortably.

Adore is a beautiful, frustrating, and utterly strange film. It is too melodramatic to be a serious art-house hit, yet too slow and contemplative to be a trashy thriller. For viewers willing to suspend modern ethical lens and embrace the film as a fable about obsessive love, there is a hypnotic, tragic quality to it. You will likely find yourself shouting at the screen, but you probably won’t look away.