Filmas Trys Metrai Virs Dangaus !!top!! -

Wait for TV. If you are a sucker for 2000s-style bad-boy romances and have never seen the original, you might enjoy the ride. Everyone else should steer clear.

Where the film succeeds is in its visual identity. Cinematographer Narvydas Naujokas makes Vilnius feel moody, romantic, and gritty all at once. The nighttime street races, the cobblestones of Užupis, and the melancholic rain-soaked alleys give the story a distinct sense of place. It’s refreshing to see a Lithuanian commercial film that doesn’t shy away from urban grit. filmas trys metrai virs dangaus

At nearly two hours, the film drags. The middle section is a repetitive loop: they fight, they make up, they ride the motorbike, someone gets jealous, repeat. The supporting characters are cardboard cutouts—the jealous rich ex-boyfriend (Rokas) has no depth, Gabrielė’s mother is a one-note villain, and Stepas’s street crew are indistinguishable from any other generic movie gang. Wait for TV

The two leads also deserve credit. Marius Repšys, with his brooding stares and physical intensity, fits the “bad boy” archetype well. He brings a raw, unpolished energy that almost convinces you Stepas is more than just a walking red flag. Džiugas Siaurusaitis, as Gabrielė, balances innocence with a growing sense of defiance. Their chemistry is visible, even when the script fails them. Where the film succeeds is in its visual identity

In 2019, Lithuanian cinema attempted to capture the lightning-in-a-bottle magic of Federico Moccia’s infamous Italian teen romance Tre metri sopra il cielo with its local adaptation, Trys metrai virš dangaus (Three Meters Above the Sky). Directed by Ramūnas Rudokas, the film transplants the story of forbidden, passionate, and destructive first love from the sun-drenched streets of Rome to modern-day Vilnius. For fans of the original or the 2010 Spanish remake, this version will feel immediately familiar—perhaps too familiar. While it boasts competent cinematography and a game young cast, it struggles to justify its own existence beyond a localized cover version of a song we’ve already heard too many times.

Furthermore, the film’s central relationship is problematic in ways the script never fully critiques. Stepas is possessive, aggressive, and gets into a fistfight at nearly every opportunity. Gabrielė’s “transformation” from a good girl to a rebellious lover is portrayed as romantic, but the power imbalance is uncomfortable. The film mistakes toxicity for passion. In 2019 (and certainly in retrospect), a story where the hero’s idea of love involves punching other men and dictating who his girlfriend can see feels dated and irresponsible.

Here is the core problem: Trys metrai virš dangaus is a scene-for-scene remake. If you have seen the Italian original or the Spanish version ( Tres metros sobre el cielo ), you already know every beat, every fight, every kiss, and every heartbreak. The film takes no risks. The dialogue is often stiff, translating Moccia’s melodramatic lines into Lithuanian without any natural flow. Teenagers in Vilnius do not talk like that.