The Heart Knows (currently streaming on Netflix) is a heartfelt romance centered quite literally around hearts: Benjamin Vicuna portrays a wealthy man in dire need of a heart transplant. The heart he receives belongs to a less fortunate individual. Following the surgery and subsequent funeral, the rich man encounters the widow of his heart donor. Suffice it to say, things become complicated, as is often the case in tales where affluent men receive hearts from poorer counterparts and later cross paths with their donors’ widows. This Argentinian drama, directed by Marcos Carnevale, who also helmed the similarly contrived Netflix film Goyo, raises the question of whether The Heart Knows will enchant us in a similar fashion.

The Gist: Tennis is how the wealthy squeeze in some exercise, often within their private court settings, with personal coaches launching balls at them. Juan Manuel, played by Vicuna, is the affluent character, not the coach. During a session, he plays vigorously but eventually pauses, seemingly fatigued. Later, he chats briefly with his elegant girlfriend (Annasofia Facello), passes by his housekeeper (Julia Calvo), and then heads off to work as the CEO of Concretar, a construction firm. His weekend intentions include taking a private jet with friends to party in Rio. However, before reaching the airport, he experiences chest pain, shakes his numb arm, pulls over to the roadside, and makes a 911 call before collapsing onto the steering wheel, the horn sounding endlessly.

Meanwhile, it’s Vale’s (Julieta Diaz) birthday. Her young son, Tiago (Manuel da Silva), and husband, Pedro (Facundo Espinosa), present her with a gift: a wall covered in graffiti declaring their love. Despite modest financial means and living in El Progreso—a neighborhood past its prime—they appear content. Yet, their happiness is threatened, as developers are planning to demolish El Progreso. Guess who’s behind this? Indeed, it’s Juan Manuel’s company. Vale and Pedro rally their community to refurbish a partially constructed medical center, hoping to enhance the area and resist the encroachment of developers intending to transform their homes into vape shops, condos, or other businesses. Tragically, that evening, while riding his motorcycle through the city, Pedro swerves to dodge traffic but crashes, tragically striking his head on a curb.

Perhaps you can see where this is going. Juan Manuel’s sister Deborah (Gloria Carra) and best pal Tony (Peto Menahem) learn that he needs a heart transplant. Vale has an awful organ-donor conversation with the nurse. Fade out/fade in: THREE MONTHS LATER. Juan Manuel has a big scar on his chest. Vale cooks dinner for just two now. Juan Manuel asks his housekeeper to eat dinner with him and she wonders if something’s wrong with him because this never happened before. Vale works at the corner bar and grill and helps out with the med-center project. Juan Manuel feels like a different person now, not the privilege-saturated party guy he used to be. Vale just keeps on fighting for everything she needs, because that’s the fact of life of blue-collar folk. 

Juan Manuel learns that the organ donor is from El Progreso. Coincidence or destiny? Depends on what kind of movie this is. He follows the intuition and curiosity of his new self to El Progreso, where he looks like a Benz guy in a Chevy land, and promptly steps in dog crap. Symbolism! The crap might just belong to late Pedro’s pooch, who approaches Juan Manuel, takes a sniff, then sits and holds out his paw to shake. Oh boy. Juan Manuel goes home and his housekeeper gives him some of her husband’s humble-workin’-man clothes so he can look the part of El Progreso, then he goes back and ingratiates himself with Vale and the folk by helping them rebuild the med center. Of course he doesn’t tell them who he really is, because they might roast him on a spit, and he tries to fend off everyone at Concretar because they’ve got the wrecking ball all gassed up and ready to go. He’s getting in deep, Juan Manuel. And then he gets in even deeper when he starts kissing Vale. Anyone else around here feel like they’re sitting on an atomic bomb, waiting for it to go off?

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: David Duchovny’s late wife’s donated heart is inside Minnie Driver in Return to Me, and we all cry when they fall in love, none the wiser to the truth. And who could forget Untamed Heart, the quintessential early ’90s weepy about Christian Slater and his transplanted baboon heart?

Performance Worth Watching: Diaz brings winningly earnest gravitas to a boilerplate character among this movie’s well-stocked pantry of boilerplate characters.

Memorable Dialogue: Juan Manuel breaks it to Tony that he doesn’t want Concretar to put the ol’ development screws to El Progreso:

Juan Manuel: I’m going against all my interests as a businessman, but I’m being true to my principles as a human.

Tony: Listen to me, Ernesto “Che” Guevara. I’m having a stroke.

Sex and Skin: None.

Our Take: Perfectly fine, professional performances by Diaz and Vicuna can’t elevate The Heart Knows above being a dreary, humorless and predictable slog. The plot is a toddler’s four-piece jigsaw puzzle, the characters are off the clearance rack and the screenplay shows little interest in enlivening the proceedings with any comedy or substantive drama. My snarky little aside about what kind of movie this is does indeed get answered: It’s not much of anything. It’s too timid to go full Hallmark schmaltz on the romantic divine providence/serendipity stuff, or explore the science and psychology of the changes a transplant recipient might experience. I was thoroughly bored.

Perhaps in search of tonal consistency, Carnevale finds the blandest route through this subject matter, pancaking Juan Manuel and Vale’s primary character arcs in the process and rendering their romance as tepid as last Tuesday’s tea. The supporting cast, usually employed to diversify and color the narrative, is similarly bland and washed out; one of Vale’s “quirky” neighbors is a mentally challenged man whose bellowed mantra is “Morons sons of bitches!”, and a caricature best left in the 1990s. A couple of times, the film felt like a throwback romance about wounded people finding snatches of happiness wherever they can, just like all of us tend to be and do. But it’s ultimately a shallow endeavor with a screenplay that’s ripe for renovation, if not a total tear-down and rebuild. So to speak.

Our Call: This movie about hearts doesn’t have enough heart. SKIP IT.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.