This should have been an easy movie to like: coworkers discover romance while fighting their personal demons. And it feels weird and wrong to cry, "Too much realism!" But that was the problem, for me. Sous-chef Lara is a likeable person, when she isn't drinking. When she drinks, I'm reminded why I avoid alcoholics and other addicts like the plague - they're just unbearable to be around... and to watch. The acting was so good I couldn't stand it, on a par with Ben Gazzara in "Tales of Ordinary Madness" (Italy/France, 1981). And it doesn't help that she works with a bunch of only nominally adult jackasses in a kitchen where the noise never ceases.
Masseur Clemens is portrayed annoyingly well, too. When his #HimToo moment occurs, he reacts with neither extreme of "hot diggety" nor "get the hell out until you can behave". Instead, he dithers, uncertain and insecure. And he continues to dither through much of the movie, although who can blame him when the object of his affection is a boozehound? The resulting plot is just a little too real-time, like a novel that hasn't had its first edit.
It's difficult to enjoy a romance movie when you don't feel much affinity or affection for the characters. Building that affinity would require prologue, I think. It's not a bad film, but it could be better.
