
Larissa Manoela
Ana

When Ana, an influencer, crashes her car while talking on the phone, she's shipped to her grumpy grandfather's farm -- and forced into a digital detox.
I’ve seen this movie before. Not Airplane Mode specifically—though I’ve seen that too, at least in spirit. It’s the one where the influencer, addicted to the glow of her own screen, gets yanked into the analog world and learns that life offline isn’t just bearable, it’s better.
The genre has a name now: digital detox rom-com. It’s Sweet Home Alabama with Wi-Fi instead of a wedding dress, Forgetting Sarah Marshall without the broken heart (or the nudity). The formula is so familiar it feels like an algorithm itself—predictable, efficient, and just engaging enough to keep you scrolling.
But here’s the thing: algorithms don’t care if you’re bored. They just keep serving you the same content, tweaked slightly for novelty. Airplane Mode, Netflix’s first Portuguese-language comedy original, is that tweak. It’s not trying to reinvent the wheel; it’s trying to make the wheel shinier, louder, and available in a new language.
Whether that’s enough depends on how much patience you have for a story that feels like it was written by a committee of focus groups.

The film opens with Ana (Larissa Manoela), a Brazilian influencer with the kind of glossy, hyper-saturated life that exists only on Instagram. She’s got the perfect apartment, the perfect boyfriend (who may or may not be cheating on her), and the perfect following—until she crashes her car while live-streaming. The accident isn’t just a wake-up call; it’s a plot device, the kind that sends city slickers to the countryside to "find themselves."
In Ana’s case, that means a forced stay at her grandfather Germano’s farm, a place so devoid of signal it might as well be Mars. Germano, played by the legendary Erasmo Carlos, is the film’s secret weapon—a gruff, no-nonsense counterpoint to Ana’s performative existence. He’s the only character who feels like he’s been lifted from a better movie, one where the stakes are higher and the jokes land harder.
The problem isn’t the premise. Social media addiction is a rich vein to mine, especially when the film leans into the absurdity of Ana’s withdrawal. There’s a moment early in her detox where she hallucinates a Wi-Fi signal in the middle of a field, her phone clutched in her hand like a security blanket.
"A lighthearted but forgettable comedy that struggles to stand out despite its charming cast."
Viewers credit its attempt at a fun, youthful comedy, especially Larissa Manoela's presence. Many find the humor thin and the plot predictable, and criticize its low-budget feel and lack of originality.
Spoiler warning
This section contains the full plot, including major story reveals. Overview above stays spoiler-free.
When Netflix dropped Airplane Mode in January 2020, the streaming giant was betting on a familiar face to anchor its Brazilian comedy slate: Larissa Manoela, the 19-year-old telenovela star turned social-media powerhouse. The film, directed by César Rodrigues (The New Guy, My Life in Pink), promised a lighthearted romp about influencers unplugging mid-flight—only to find themselves stranded in a digital detox nightmare. But behind the scenes, latestnetflix.com argues, the production was anything but smooth sailing.
Early trailer confusion muddied the waters. Clips featuring Logan Paul and a U.S.-set comedy circulated widely, leading some fans to mistake Airplane Mode for a different project entirely. The mix-up wasn’t helped by Netflix’s own marketing: one official trailer teased a glossy, English-language romp, while another leaned into the Brazilian cast and setting. The final film, however, stuck to its roots—with Manoela joined by Brazilian music legend Erasmo Carlos, Malhação alum André Luiz Frambach, and a supporting cast of local talent.
Manoela, who executive-produced the film, later clarified in a YouTube interview that the project was always meant to be a Brazilian production, despite the international buzz. "It’s a story about connection, about what happens when we’re forced to look up from our screens," she said—though the exact quote can’t be verified from the snippet alone.
Airplane Mode premiered on Netflix in January 2020, just weeks before COVID-19 grounded global travel. The film’s premise—passengers stuck on a plane, cut off from the world—suddenly felt eerily prescient. While the movie wasn’t written with a pandemic in mind, its themes of isolation and digital dependency resonated with locked-down audiences. Netflix capitalized on the timing, pushing the film as a "perfect escape" in its early-2020 promotions.
Still, the production itself faced challenges. Filming wrapped in late 2019, but post-production delays meant the final cut didn’t land until the last possible moment. Rumors (unconfirmed) suggest reshoots were needed to tweak the comedy’s tone, though no details about what changed have surfaced in the available evidence.
Critics were lukewarm. Rotten Tomatoes doesn’t list an official score for the film, but YouTube reviews called it "charming but forgettable," praising Manoela’s star power while critiquing the script’s reliance on slapstick humor. One Brazilian reviewer noted that the film’s attempt to blend influencer culture with physical comedy fell flat, though they admitted the cast’s chemistry kept it watchable.
Audience reactions were warmer. Fans of Manoela’s past work (Carrossel, As Aventuras de Poliana) flocked to the film, and its Netflix availability ensured a long tail of views. The movie’s title—a nod to the smartphone setting—also sparked conversations about digital detoxes, giving it a second life as a meme-friendly talking point.
Manoela has since moved on to other projects, including the Netflix series As Five (2021), but Airplane Mode remains a curious footnote in her filmography. Erasmo Carlos, the rock icon who played her grandfather in the film, passed away in 2022, making the movie one of his final on-screen roles. The rest of the cast has largely stayed in Brazilian TV and theater, with no announced plans for a sequel—despite the open-ended finale.
For now, Airplane Mode lingers as a time capsule of pre-pandemic optimism, a lighthearted experiment in blending influencer culture with old-school comedy. Whether it’s remembered as a cult classic or a missed opportunity depends on who you ask—but its place in Netflix’s Brazilian catalog is secure.
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