In a world where our thumbs do the talking and our hearts are just collateral damage, Swiped (2025) arrives like a glitch in the matrix-a witty, unflinching takedown of the dating app epidemic that's swallowed modern romance whole. Directed by the up-and-coming Mia Chen, this indie gem clocks in at a breezy 92 minutes but packs the emotional wallop of a ghosted DM at 2 a.m. At its core, Swiped follows Lena (played with raw, relatable vulnerability by newcomer Aria Voss), a jaded 28-year-old barista who's one bad swipe away from deleting every app on her phone. When a viral glitch exposes users' most cringeworthy secrets-think drunk nudes, desperate pleas, and that one guy who lists "breathing" as a hobby-Lena's carefully curated facade crumbles, forcing her to confront the real connections she's been algorithmically avoiding. It's Her meets Black Mirror, but with more heart emojis and fewer existential dread spirals. Chen's script is a masterclass in balancing satire with sincerity. The app interfaces are hilariously recreated as neon-drenched fever dreams, complete with swipe animations that feel like they're judging you personally. Standout scenes, like the group therapy session turned chaotic roast of pickup lines, had the theater erupting in knowing laughter. But it's the quieter moments-Lena's late-night scroll through old matches, her eyes hollowing out with each rejection-that linger, reminding us why we keep swiping despite the soul-suck. The ensemble shines, too. Voss is a revelation, channeling the quiet rage of a generation raised on filtered perfection. Supporting turns from Theo Grant as the charmingly flawed "nice guy" and Lena's sardonic bestie (a pitch-perfect Sofia Reyes) add layers of levity without undercutting the film's bite. Tech consultant Raj Patel steals every scene as the app's beleaguered creator, whose arc from Silicon Valley bro to reluctant whistleblower is equal parts farce and fable. Visually, cinematographer Alex Ruiz captures the cold glow of screens against warm, lived-in spaces, making every notification feel like a tiny betrayal. The score, a mix of lo-fi beats and synth stabs, pulses like a racing heartbeat on a first date. Swiped isn't flawless-some subplots fizzle out like a match with no mutual interests, and the ending leans a tad too tidy for its own messy themes. But in an era of endless scrolling, it dares you to log off and log in to something real. Go see it. Then delete one app. Just one.

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