Consistently thrilling and surprisingly empowering, Netflix‘s The Tinder Swindler tells the almost-unbelievable story of three women who went looking for Prince Charming on a dating app, but ended up falling for someone like the Bunty Chor character from Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! instead.
Slickly directed by Felicity Morris and structured in a way that ensures curveballs keep coming at you right till the very end, The Tinder Swindler is the kind of movie that, ironically enough, will force you to leap online and engage in a discussion about it with complete strangers the minute you’re done watching.
And it was with a similar desire in her heart—to feel connected to another person—that Cecilie, a 20-something from Norway, became attracted to the world of online dating. She describes herself in the film as somewhat of a Tinder expert, and blushes slightly as she reveals she has matched with over 1000 people on the app.
One of them was a businessman named Simon Leviev. His profile didn’t raise any alarms, but it certainly seemed like he was advertising his wealth and jet-setting lifestyle. Cecilie did what any rational person would; she googled him. And to her surprise (and relief), he checked out. They decided to go out for coffee. Over the next month, he courted her like the very concept of courtship was about to go out of fashion. He took her to fancy dinners, flew her over to whichever corner of Europe he was at in that moment, and methodically seduced her into falling in love with him.
And then, out of the blue, he asked for some money. His ‘enemies’ were after him, and they wanted him dead. Now, this is the exact moment where you and I would notice red flags. But Cecilie didn’t. And there’s nothing that we can do about that. Sure, hindsight is a luxury, but you must remember that Cecilie was a woman in love. And that she was dealing with a career criminal.
It is soon revealed that Simon had pulled similar cons across Europe, with potentially dozens upon dozens of women (three of whom appear in the film), and stolen an estimated $10 million from them. For what? To live well.
And that is the cruel irony at the centre of this story. Simon didn’t commit his alleged crimes because of any personal reasons. He went about his cons clinically, driven by a pathological determination to get his way, regardless of the (human) cost.
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It’s no surprise that the film counts Bart Layton as one of the executive producers. Layton, of course, is perhaps best known for his 2012 docudrama The Imposter, which was about perhaps one of the most infamous con artists of the 21st century. Combining dramatic recreations with actual documentary footage, the film told the story of the French confidence trickster Frédéric Bourdin, who somehow impersonated a missing American boy, and actually moved in with his ‘family’ after being ‘found’.
The Tinder Swindler has a similar scandalous quality, but in tone and style, it’s of a piece with other blockbuster Netflix documentaries such as Fyre: The Greatest Party That Never Happened and The Legend of Cocaine Island.
At various points, the women compare their predicament to being in a film. Cecilie describes her first meeting with Simon as something straight out of a romantic comedy. Later, another of his ‘victims’, Ayleen, says she felt like she was in a horror movie when she discovered that she’d been lied to.
What makes The Tinder Swindler significantly better than your average flavour-of-the-week true crime documentary is its admirable dedication to not sit on the fence about the whole thing. None of us need to be reminded of just how many true crime documentaries cash in on crimes committed (mostly) against women. Where an inferior film would have simply told the story in a sleazy manner, perhaps even taking a victim-blaming tone, The Tinder Swindler turns the narrative on its head and focuses on the human-interest angle at the heart of this terrible crime story. From a by-the-numbers thriller, it transforms in its final moments into feminist revenge saga. And boy, is it satisfying to watch.
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It’s also remarkable to note how, even after having their faith in decency systematically dismantled by a conman, the women are still idealistic about bringing him to justice. They go to the press, convinced that telling their story to the world will change things. And certainly, the film is edited in a manner that suggests it did. The Tinder Swindler is the rare true crime documentary that has minimal involvement of the police, or any sort of law enforcement agency at all. Instead, it gives journalists a well-deserved moment in the sun.
There’s a particularly riveting stretch in the third act, in which a consortium of three reporters lands up at Simon’s parents’ house in Tel Aviv, and confront his mother (?) about his crimes.
The film probably won’t affect Match Group stock, but it’ll most certainly inspire some interesting online chatter for the next couple of weeks, maybe even on Tinder.
The Tinder Swindler Director – Felicity Morris Rating – 4/5
Rohan Naahar is an assistant editor at Indian Express online. He covers pop-culture across formats and mediums. He is a 'Rotten Tomatoes-approved' critic and a member of the Film Critics Guild of India. He previously worked with the Hindustan Times, where he wrote hundreds of film and television reviews, produced videos, and interviewed the biggest names in Indian and international cinema. At the Express, he writes a column titled Post Credits Scene, and has hosted a podcast called Movie Police.
You can find him on X at @RohanNaahar, and write to him at rohan.naahar@indianexpress.com. He is also on LinkedIn and Instagram. ... Read More
The Tinder Swindler movie review: New Netflix documentary focusses on the human-interest angle more than the crime. (Photo: Netflix)