Voicemails For My Siblings Spoilers

Talkers

On occasion, I falter under a constant growing wave of self-doubt. Oftentimes, my aloneness precedes me, overtakes me, and I forget what it is to be outside of these walls as a being. Oftentimes, I call you. To talk.

There are a million memories to comb through, a million seconds that have been lived, that I relive behind closed lids when there is not enough to shake me from these feelings. All of these moments are lived when we talk.

If there was a space to go to, a moment to suspend in time, it would be this, surrounded by you, in the golden glow of the living room, or in the kitchen, drenched in a whole day's time, bending at the bones, excited to talk.

There is a tiktok trend going around right now that warns sisters from watching Voicemails for Isabelle.

https://www.tiktok.com/@gabri_smith/video/7655170401374358814

Let me tell you, yes, that is an accurate video. (Thus, the sappy poem.) If you're a sister going to watch this movie, get ready to be completely devastated.

I've been thinking a lot about what makes a good romance story. Over the years, I think I've become somewhat hardened by how romances are depicted in movies and shows. Evidence can be found here. Or here.

Blame it on the innumerable YA novels I devoured in high school, or just Twilight in general. The oversaturation of over-the-top, melodramatic obsessive love. You know, the kind where there is absolutely nothing else, a zing, being swept off your feet, tunnel vision glorification type of obsession. And things can get weird in those kinds of narratives. Wuthering Heights fingering eggs level weird.

Watching you while you sleep level weird.

Don't get me wrong, those kinds of exaggerated, all-consuming passionate love affairs are fun, but they aren't meant to be taken seriously. It's fiction, a form of escapism, a total surrender to feelings as toxic as they may be. But there is something undeniably powerful and poetic about the crushing force of being swept off your feet.

Which, I think explains a lot of the pieces I've written in my lifetime. There is safety in indulging in the yearning, in the drama of simply and wholly desiring while knowing that this is something you can't touch, not really. It's fiction. It can be controlled, even when untameable and wild. The flame sits in my hands, at my whim, in my command.

So, innocence can't save you. At least, dreaming can. At least,

in this cold, cold world, a little bit of pining crackles the kindle.

I can induce a little bit of drama in the lock of a gaze. In the tilt of a head. A smile. As easily as I can erase it and indulge in that loss. The phantasmic grief of never knowing something, of losing an imaginative space to the cement stark reality. But, I get to choose what to feel and how much. I can go as far as I want with little to no repercussions.

If it's not obvious by now, I can say with great certainty that I've never been in love. Vicariously, sure (#benzo). Realistically, nope. Not one bit. You might feel compelled to pity me; you might feel compelled to stand up and point at the irony of this statement– don't worry, it's not lost on me; you might even consider this a reason for my apparent cynicism towards the general concept of romance. I mean, yeah, probably.

But I've always seen this as a source of strength. Because although I may not have experienced being in love, I have been consistently surrounded by an abundance of love, and it's allowed me to discern what I am looking for, to teach me what it means in actuality, to keep what is not at a physical arm's length. I know firsthand the choice, the unconditionality, the utter and sheer helplessness of being at the whim of familial love. And, yes, it's different, but the branches stem from the same roots.

Which is my long-winded way of saying that Voicemails for Isabelle isn't really a rom-com in my eyes as much as it is a love letter to siblings alike. And that's why it resonates with me so much.

Why I Don't See It As a Rom-Com

To acknowledge Voicemails for Isabella as a rom-com would be to then point out the fact that the rom is creepy. Dude's a walking-talking red-flag if I'd ever seen one, and I don't think the movie ever does justice to reconciling with the fact that our main love interest, Wes, is adjacent to Joe from You in terms of stalker behaviour.

The premise doesn't do him any favours either. After losing her sister to cystic fibrosis, Jill copes with her grief by leaving her voicemails about her day to day in San Francisco. Unbeknownst to her, a real estate agent in Texas, Wes, has her sister's old phone number and has been listening to Jill's messages. Through those messages, he forms a parasocial bond with Jill and decides that she's the one. With a little bit of actual stalking, Wes makes his way into Jill's life and that is how their love story begins.

Despite the super weird beginning to their relationship, the movie tries really hard to make the love story feel wholesome and cute. If it wasn't for Jill's trauma, it would honestly be hard overlooking how creepy Wes is, but the movie is smart. It knows its audience.

It starts, right off the bat, with the most brutal, heart-wrenching storyline to prime the audience. Isabelle's death, the lack of closure on Jill's end, all plays into us wanting her to have some semblance, any semblance, of happiness. Her grief is palpable. It feels real.

To even imagine losing a sibling has my hands shaking. My siblings are the closest people to me. They know me the best, inside and out. My childhood was marked with so many memories of random shenanigans, late night conversations. Even now, the best part of my day is calling my siblings up and just chatting about our day, even when there isn't anything really interesting going on.

A big part of romance stories is this desire to be wholly known and understood. I mean, think about Edward and Bella, or Damon and Elena, or even Belly and Conrad– the obsession stems from a mutual recognition of each other. Like this is a super duper serious kind of romance because they see each other more than others, they know what each other wants, they can feel each other emotionally, spiritually or whatnot.

Voicemails for Isabelle goes, yeah fuck that. The sister bond takes precedent. Sure Wes and Jill meet and forge a friendship, but Jill's reliance on Isabelle doesn't waver. She's the one she calls in the evening to chat about her experiences. Wes isn't there as a replacement; he's never posed as a solution or even a bandage to cover the wound; at most, he is a friend, a safe place for Jill to return to herself.

Beyond that, he is as unimportant as the random hookup with Arthur, which is neither here nor there. Actually, now that I think about it, Arthur feels more important because at least they used his character to tiptoe around the topic of the gender gap. Wes is just a tool, at best, to propel Jill's healing.

Grief and Sisterhood

Making Jill and Isabelle the heart of this movie is what saved it, in my humble opinion. It gives me Sarah Dessen vibes, if you know what I mean. There is something sweet and light about the tone of this story where grief hides and coexists in the day-to-day, in the humour, in the gentle not-much-happening moments. The way that Jill navigates her grief, even, feels anchored in reality– there is a suspension of time in some ways, but life continues moving, things continue happening and changing.

That love, though, never fades.

All of my life, I have wanted someone to know me; romcoms and romance narratives made me feel that I had to seek it out elsewhere. But, I've always been known and loved. Through my siblings who are so deeply a part of who I am, who know me. Voicemails for Isabelle reminded me of that.