Acting Dangerous: How Alberto Olmo’s ‘Bad Influence’ Messes with Our Heads

The ‘Eros’ Effect: Alberto Olmo’s Sizzling Turn in ‘Bad Influence’

Meet the Set-Up, Ignore the Substance: What is Bad Influence Trying to Be?

Once upon a time in the algorithm-driven kingdom of Netflix, someone decided to adapt a Wattpad novel called Bad Influence. The idea? Recreate the magic that worked for The Tearsmith and turn another internet-born story into a streaming hit. Except this time, the spell didn’t work.

As a Netflix adaptation of viral Wattpad novel Bad Influence, Mala influencia had the packaging: a brooding bodyguard, a troubled ballerina, and a sun-drenched Spanish backdrop. But what it lacked was spine. The Bad Influence Netflix rollout promised dangerous tension and emotional depth. What it delivered was moody lighting and dramatic hair flips. While the source material was buzzy enough to earn its place in digital fanfiction royalty, the on-screen version played it painfully safe.

The film looks like a thriller, sounds like a romance, but moves like an Instagram slideshow. Dialogue is stilted. Stakes are fuzzy. And despite a plot that hints at danger, mystery, and forbidden connection, the Bad Influence movie plot keeps tripping over itself trying to be everything at once—and ends up being nothing at all.

A Bodyguard, a Ballerina, and the Oldest Plot in the Book

If you’ve seen any teen drama in the last twenty years, you already know this dance: wealthy, emotionally fragile young woman meets emotionally unavailable protector with a haunted past. Sparks fly. Secrets unfold. And somewhere in between, a love story happens. Or at least, it tries to.

In Mala influencia, Eléa Rochera’s Reese is a ballet student with trauma and trust issues. Her father hires a bodyguard, and along comes Alberto Olmo’s Eros—shirtless, silent, and staring like he read the Twilight handbook for brooding. Their dynamic is pure trope: the forbidden romance between Reese and Eros in Bad Influence is so by-the-numbers, you could fill out a bingo card before the third act.

But the problem isn’t the clichés. It’s the execution. There’s no tension in their flirtation, no real danger in their disobedience. Even Alberto Olmo’s role in Mala influencia can’t inject the relationship with urgency. The film never gives the audience a reason to root for these two beyond shallow attraction. It sells emotional risk but never delivers it.

Bad Influence wants to be edgy and sweeping, but instead plays like a sanitized daydream—a fantasy where nothing truly bad, or truly intimate, ever happens. For a story allegedly about obsession and protection, it all feels surprisingly unprotective of narrative ambition.

Performances That Glow in a Film That Doesn’t

Alberto’s Understated Magnetism as Eros

In a film struggling to make its plot stick, Alberto Olmo’s portrayal of Eros in Bad Influence ends up being one of the few reasons to keep watching. His character, a mysteriously intense bodyguard, could have easily become a walking stereotype. But Olmo—with minimal dialogue and maximal eye contact—manages to anchor the character in restraint instead of melodrama.

This is not an actor trying to chew scenery. Eros actor Bad Influence doesn’t posture or monologue. He watches. He calculates. He barely speaks. And when he does, it’s weighted. That kind of precision makes a difference in a film that otherwise leans too heavily on moody montages. Alberto Olmo Netflix fans may have expected flashier material, but what they get is nuance: a man navigating obsession, trauma, and eroticism without falling into parody.

The tragedy is that the script doesn’t give Olmo much to work with. So instead, he carves impact from silence. In a better film, this performance could have been the turning point. Here, it’s a hidden gem buried in soft-focus haze.

Mirela Balić Steals Scenes as the Real Threat

Let’s be honest: Mirela Balić’s performance as Peyton, the unhinged ex-girlfriend, injects more electricity into her few scenes than the main couple manages in the entire runtime. Mirela Balić’s standout role in Bad Influence as Peyton works because she understands the assignment: chaos, but make it precise.

She plays Peyton not as a caricature but as a fully loaded weapon in a designer dress. She’s not a clichéd villainess—she’s a walking red flag you can’t stop watching. Her energy forces the film to spike every time she enters the frame.

The irony? Bad Influence Netflix cast was marketed around the central romance, but the only scenes that actually crackle are the ones where Peyton disrupts the fantasy. Balić turns a throwaway supporting role into a masterclass in scene-stealing. If this movie gets remembered at all, her name will be why.

In a film that promises intensity but delivers gloss, the actors are doing their best. Unfortunately, charisma alone can’t fix narrative disarray. But it does make the mess look a little more stylish.

Romance Without Tension: The Chemistry Question

Passion, Proximity, and Predictability

You know when two characters are supposed to be in love, but all you see is intense eye contact and well-lit cheekbones? That’s what happens when you watch Alberto Olmo and Eléa Rochera’s chemistry in Bad Influence. It’s not that they’re bad actors—they’re just stuck in scenes that seem designed for Pinterest mood boards rather than actual drama.

Everything between Reese and Eros feels a beat too polished, too symmetrical, too curated to sting. The proximity is there. The glances are long. The pauses are dramatic. And yet, the spark? Nowhere to be found. This isn’t a failure of the actors. It’s a failure of context. Without emotional stakes or meaningful backstory, the relationship floats in a vacuum—pretty, but weightless.

So yes, Alberto Olmo chemistry with co-stars like Rochera is technically present. But chemistry without conflict is just choreography. And in this case, the dance is nice to look at—but you forget it as soon as it ends.

Sensual Aesthetics vs. Emotional Payoff

Bad Influence is desperate to seduce you. It wants to be mysterious and sexy, full of brooding silences and perfectly tousled hair. The problem? It’s trying so hard to look good, it forgets to feel anything. What could have been a gripping psychological romance instead leans fully into shirtless montages, mirror gazes, and soundtrack-heavy slow-motion that add nothing to the actual story.

The visual focus of Bad Influence over character development is especially obvious in every scene that should hit emotionally but doesn’t. You’re constantly being told what to feel—with lighting, with framing, with music—but you never actually feel it. Because the characters haven’t earned it. We don’t know them well enough. We haven’t seen them risk enough.

It’s all aesthetics, no ache. And while Bad Influence Netflix romance looks good in a trailer, the full film leaves you scrolling for something that burns deeper. Because when you take away the filtered visuals, there’s very little left to hold onto.

Narrative Holes You Could Drive a Porsche Through

Who’s Stalking Who? The Threat That Barely Exists

In theory, Bad Influence is about a young woman being stalked and protected. In practice, the incoherent stalker subplot in Bad Influence disappears so quickly, you’ll wonder if it was a fever dream. The threat that justifies Eros being hired as Reese’s bodyguard barely gets screen time. And when it does, it feels like an afterthought—a narrative excuse to throw two attractive people into close quarters.

No investigation. No suspense. No danger that feels real. The idea of someone following Reese is raised, nodded at, and then promptly ghosted by the script. It’s not a subplot. It’s a discarded plot device. And in a film that hinges on paranoia and protection, that absence creates a hole you can’t unsee.

So when people question the Bad Influence movie plot or point to Mala influencia story issues, they’re not nitpicking. They’re pointing at a critical structural void. You can’t build tension without a threat. And you can’t sell danger when even the characters seem to forget it exists.

Where Is Bruce and Why Did He Hire a Hunk?

Bruce, played by Enrique Arce, is the character who sets the entire story in motion—and then seemingly wanders off into narrative oblivion. He’s Reese’s father, the man who hires Eros to protect her, and theoretically, he should be a central player in the emotional stakes. Instead, he shows up for a few expositional scenes and then vanishes like a subplot ghost.

Worse, his decisions make no sense. Why does he hire someone with no visible background check? Why does he trust this stranger with his daughter’s safety but never follow up? And why does he feel like a leftover from a different draft? These aren’t minor questions. They’re fundamental character logic holes that erode the film’s credibility.

The questions about Bruce’s decision to hire Eros in Bad Influence don’t just poke holes in the story—they rip it wide open. And Bad Influence Enrique Arce ends up being a wasted asset. You’ve got a capable actor, a complex setup, and yet the script chooses to sideline him in favor of aesthetic angst.

This isn’t nitpicking. It’s structure. And when the structure buckles, even the prettiest scenes collapse with it.

The Aesthetic Gloss of Emptiness

Pretty Backdrops and Shallow Depths

Let’s get one thing straight: Bad Influence looks fantastic. It’s hard to argue with the rich natural light of coastal Spain or the immaculate interiors of luxury villas. But the problem with the visual design of Bad Influence shot in Valencia and Alicante is that it’s all frosting and no cake. The scenery—Alicante’s sun-drenched coastline, Valencia’s modernist facades—is deployed not as narrative texture but as aesthetic wallpaper.

Netflix clearly invested in making Bad Influence a visual feast, and the Bad Influence filming locations do their part. But beautiful shots don’t count for much when the characters walking through them are paper-thin and the plot refuses to dig past surface tension. Instead of anchoring scenes in emotional or thematic weight, the visuals function like digital postcards: lovely, curated, and strangely hollow.

This isn’t a film that uses setting to reflect character or mood. It uses setting to distract. The result is a world that feels too staged to breathe and too polished to sting. We’re watching a story that never gets messy—and in a drama about emotional entanglement and trauma, that’s a deal-breaker.

From Elite to Empty: The Inevitable Comparisons

It was only a matter of time before the comparisons started. Bad Influence clearly wants a seat at the table with heavyweights like Elite and Culpa Tuya. It borrows the aesthetics: glossy production, brooding leads, a script peppered with class dynamics and slow-burn tension. But if you’re going to enter the arena of Spanish teen thrillers like Elite, you better show up with teeth—not just cheekbones.

Where Elite thrives on narrative complexity and character development, Bad Influence collapses under the weight of its own moodiness. It gestures at drama but rarely earns it. It hints at danger but never sustains it. And while Culpa Tuya might indulge in melodrama, it at least gives its characters interiority and stakes. Bad Influence, in contrast, plays it safe—emotionally and structurally.

This is where the Elite vs Bad Influence debate becomes revealing. The former builds tension with character arcs; the latter assumes slick visuals are enough. The Bad Influence Netflix comparisons keep piling up because viewers know what this genre can deliver. When it doesn’t, the emptiness is even more obvious.

And that’s the core issue: Bad Influence imitates the vibe without understanding the engine. It’s not just falling short of its peers. It’s not even trying to outdo them. It’s too content looking good while saying very little—and audiences, by now, are savvy enough to notice the difference.