TL;DR: Just Alice is Netflix’s latest Colombian romantic dramedy about a woman secretly married to two men — and it’s every bit as wild, funny, and emotionally charged as that premise promises. Verónica Orozco leads a stellar cast through a telenovela-flavored rollercoaster that’s equal parts steamy and self-aware. Come for the chaos, stay for the heart.
Just Alice
There’s something universally satisfying about watching beautiful, messy people make gloriously bad romantic decisions — and Just Alice (or Simplemente Alicia for those who like their subtitles spicy) delivers that in spades. Netflix’s latest Colombian export is what happens when Bridget Jones crashes into a telenovela, steals its wardrobe, and then gets caught two-timing her way through Bogotá’s chaotic traffic.
If you’ve ever yelled “just pick one already!” at your screen, this show is here to prove that sometimes, picking one is the last thing anyone wants to do. And honestly? I respect that level of chaos.
Let’s talk context. Over the past few years, Netflix has quietly evolved into a global content buffet. The Latin American side of that feast — particularly from Colombia — is now the most exciting section on the menu. From the upcoming One Hundred Years of Solitude adaptation to Fake Profile, these productions blend classic telenovela flair with streaming-era polish.
Enter Just Alice: a 19-episode romantic dramedy created by Marta Betoldi and Esteban del Campo Bagu that plays like the lovechild of Emily in Paris and Desperate Housewives, but with more emotional intelligence and a lot more motorcycles.
Meet Alicia Fernández, played by the brilliant Verónica Orozco — a woman whose love life is so complicated it could be a group project. We meet her as she’s late to her wedding, of course. Her car gets towed, her gown rips, she changes in a restaurant bathroom, and she ends up riding to the church on the back of her best friend’s motorcycle. It’s rom-com chaos perfection.
She finally marries Pablo (Sebastián Carvajal), a charming social justice crusader. Cue happy ending? Not even close. Turns out, Alicia’s already married — to Alejo (Michel Brown), a novelist who literally wrote her into his latest bestseller. Neither man knows the other exists.
Yes, Just Alice is about bigamy, lies, and one woman’s desperate attempt to keep her two lives spinning. Think Mrs. Doubtfire, but make it hot, bilingual, and morally confusing.
The thing about Just Alice is that it knows it’s a melodrama — and it leans all the way in. Every episode rides that fine line between heartfelt and hilariously over-the-top. There are tear-streaked confessions, dramatic rain scenes, and needle drops so perfectly cheesy they deserve their own playlist.
But under the glittery nonsense, there’s real emotional tension. Directors Catalina Hernández and Rafael Martínez bring cinematic class to what could’ve been just another soapy spectacle. The cinematography is warm and intimate, the set design pops like a telenovela fever dream, and the editing has just enough rhythm to keep the chaos coherent.
And the cast? Electric. Orozco is phenomenal — a walking contradiction of guilt, humor, and passion. She’s a 40-something heroine allowed to be impulsive, horny, and emotionally messy, and I cannot stress how refreshing that is in a genre that too often worships twenty-somethings with no wrinkles or regrets.
A love triangle lives or dies by chemistry, and Just Alice is practically sizzling off the screen. Alejo and Alicia are the tortured, literary type — think long gazes, whiskey glasses, and books as foreplay. Pablo and Alicia, on the other hand, are idealistic and soft; the “good” kind of love that you root for even when you know it’s doomed.
Honestly, it’s impossible to pick a side — and that’s the point. The show isn’t asking us to. It’s exploring why Alicia can’t let go of either, and what “love” actually means when you’re split between two worlds. Is it selfish? Absolutely. But it’s also human as hell.
Plus, shout-out to Constanza Camelo as Susana, Alicia’s best friend and chaos therapist. She’s the ride-or-die friend we all need — part moral compass, part human alarm bell, and fully aware that she’s trapped in a romantic disaster zone. Every great rom-com needs a truth-teller, and Susana’s that character who’d show up to your wedding with a fire extinguisher “just in case.”
Most modern romantic comedies try to sanitize love — neat arcs, quirky montages, and a final kiss in the rain. Just Alicesays, “nah, let’s burn it all down and see what survives.”
The series dives headfirst into the moral gray zone of adultery, accountability, and emotional honesty. And while some might argue that the premise would be scandalous if the genders were flipped (fair point), it’s also a fascinating exploration of female desire and control. Alicia doesn’t cheat because she’s evil — she cheats because she’s terrified of being alone, and convinced she can outsmart her own loneliness.
That complexity is what makes her story feel new. This isn’t another “messy woman” trope; it’s a deep-dive into why we make the same mistakes twice — and why, sometimes, the worst decisions make for the best television.
Five episodes in, it’s too early to say if Just Alice sticks its landing — but as a setup, it’s addictive. Each 40-minute chapter breezes by with the energy of a Netflix show that knows it’s going to be your weekend fling.
Between its slick production, sharp writing, and unrelenting emotional honesty, Just Alice deserves to stand alongside the streamer’s best international rom-coms. It’s got the glitz of Valeria, the sass of Jane the Virgin, and the soap-drenched self-awareness of Ugly Betty — all blended into one dangerously bingeable cocktail.
It’s messy, it’s sexy, it’s smarter than it looks — and it might just make you text your ex “what if…” at 2 a.m. (Don’t do that.)
