The unwittingly contemporary new film by Chad Hartigan (Morris from America) will not impress for its grasp of science or its ability to realistically portray life during a pandemic. Admittedly, those couldn’t have been its goal; it was made before the Covid-19 pandemic hit the United States.

The illness in question, NIA (Neuro-Inflammatory Affliction), is one that causes its victims to gradually lose their memories. The science behind this is not explained extensively, and we have next to no idea how it is transmitted. It is therefore generous to assume that the script is governed by fabular logic as opposed to scientific. What is most important to Hartigan is the personal lives of Emma (Olivia Cooke) and Jude (Jack O’Connell) and how they are affected by this disease. 

The action is as uncomplicated as its premise, though it is not quite linear. We first hear Emma’s voice, which, in the form of a soul-searching diary entry, seeks to capture what made her union with Jude so special. We see the beginnings of their relationship, nostalgic glimpses of parties with friends, and intimate little moments of romance.

After their friend Ben (Raúl Castillo), a musician, begins to lose his memory—an event that prompts him to try to record every song he has ever written—Jude gradually begins to lose his. His case is one in which his memory deteriorates slowly, therefore, there is time for the couple to try and rescue it. Doctors propose possible cures (a shot to a specific nerve in the brain or another injection that does not have health risks), and they recommend little quizzes to help keep the memory active and healthy. So, Emma tests Jude on details of their relationship, and we see these scenes replayed. Sometimes they morph and shift with Jude’s failing memory in a way that is similar, but not identical, to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 

The acting is strong, with Cooke and Castillo as the standouts (Castillo is especially vulnerable in a scene in which Ben cannot recognize his wife). Still, the premise is so lazily sketched that it is difficult to take it seriously even as a fairy tale. Little Fish might have been saved if the writer and director had created a genuine portrayal of two people in love. Yet, in spite of their strenuous efforts, Emma and Jude fail to move us. The film tugs too quickly at our heartstrings and does not try to earn its swells of emotion. There are surges of sentimental music in almost every scene, and though there is a concerted effort on part of the screenwriter to give the central relationship intimate, telling details (a marriage proposal that coincides with the purchasing of a fish), these characters are both unconvincing and unaffecting in the way they express themselves to one another.

Though their romance is threatened by horrific events in the world, their relationship has close to no struggle in it, beyond a few obligatory arguments. In the very best romantic films (and novels, plays), the creators understand that to fall in love is to confront an entire universe of fears and agonies, regardless of what might be happening in the wider world. Emma and Jude, instead, utter platitudes and confront this overwhelming emotion with an ease that is difficult to take seriously. 

There is, of course, no one way to portray romance. Yet even brief scenes from Moonlight, Leaving Las Vegas, The Shop Around the Corner, Notorious, L’Atalante, Killer of Sheep, or Running on Empty reveal a whole spectrum of emotions that Little Fish does not even touch. In terms of more recent films, Cooper Raiff’s Shithouse is much more affecting.