Voicemails for Isabelle. (L-R) Leah McKenrick as Breeda and Nick Robinson as Wes in Voicemails for Isabelle. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix
COURTESY OF NETFLIX
Netflix’s newest romantic comedy, “Voicemails for Isabelle,” is a treat for Austin audiences. Not just because it gets several things right about grief, family and the indignities of modern dating, but because it spends much of its runtime insisting that it’s set in Austin.
That means skyline shots, references to breakfast tacos every few minutes and enough local shorthand to convince anyone who’s never lived here that they understand the city.
Article continues below this ad
Whether it actually gets Austin right is another matter.
The film stars Zoey Deutch as Jill, an Austin native who moves to San Francisco to pursue a career as a pastry chef. After her sister Isabelle dies, Jill copes by leaving voicemails on her late sister’s old phone number—unaware the number has been reassigned to Wes (Nick Robinson), an Austin real estate agent who listens to her messages before inevitably falling for the voice on the other end.
It’s a familiar setup with enough charm to make the predictable feel fresh. But for Austinites, there’s another game unfolding in the background: spotting everything the movie gets uncannily close to reality before veering into an alternate-universe Austin.
The movie wasn’t filmed here. It was shot primarily in Vancouver with a brief stint in San Francisco. That’s perfectly fine for most viewers, but for Austinites, it becomes impossible to ignore. If you’re going to sprinkle Texas swag throughout a movie, locals are going to notice when the details don’t quite line up.
Article continues below this ad
Some of them, to the film’s credit, absolutely do.
What the film gets right: Breakfast tacos, 512, Mexican restaurants
Voicemails for Isabelle. (L-R) Zoey Deutch as Jill and Megan Danso as Zella in Voicemails for Isabelle. Cr. Diyah Pera/Netflix © 2026
DIYAH PERA/NETFLIX ©2026
The movie opens with sweeping shots of the Capitol and the downtown skyline that immediately establish the setting. When Jill calls her sister’s old phone, Wes’ caller ID correctly displays a 512 area code — still the area’s signature code, alongside 737.
Article continues below this ad
The dialogue also understands Austin’s personality, if a little enthusiastically. In one voicemail, Jill cries, “Where are our weirdos?”— a wink to the city’s “Keep Austin Weird” identity. Moments later comes perhaps the cheesiest Austin sentence ever uttered in a Netflix rom-com: “Whose (expletive) do I have to suck to get a breakfast taco around here?”
As someone who lives in Austin, I can say with confidence I’ve never heard the phrase “breakfast taco” repeated as many times as I did while watching this movie.
The movie also captures some truths about life here.
Wes hangs out with friends at a sprawling brewery patio, complete with food trucks and picnic tables, that feels like a mashup of Meanwhile Brewing, Hold Out Brewing and Central Machine Works.
Article continues below this ad
Voicemails for Isabelle. (L-R) Harry Shum Jr. as Andy and Leah McKenrick as Breeda in Voicemails for Isabelle. Cr. Diyah Pera/Netflix © 2026
DIYAH PERA/NETFLIX ©2026
Another scene unfolds inside an old-school Mexican restaurant with bars over the windows—a detail Austinites will recognize from many longtime family-owned spots, particularly on the East Side.
Even the movie’s take on Austin dating culture occasionally rings true. It includes the increasingly familiar archetype of the guy who hosts a dating podcast while simultaneously being terrible at dating.
Then there are the moments where things become strangely… Austin-adjacent.
Article continues below this ad
Where it gets uncanny
Voicemails for Isabelle. Nick Robinson as Wes in Voicemails for Isabelle. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix
COURTESY OF NETFLIX
Early in the movie, a breakup takes place inside what appears to be a Buffalo Wild Wings while the Kansas City Chiefs play the Minnesota Vikings on television.
Maybe it’s nitpicking, but this is Texas. Where are the Cowboys? If we’re manufacturing Austin anyway, the breakup may as well have happened at Chili’s at 45th and Lamar.
Article continues below this ad
Later, Wes works from a downtown office where an elevated rail line glides past the windows while Google’s downtown building sits nearby.
Except no such rail line exists here.
This is the first moment where the illusion starts to crack. It resembles Austin just enough to make your brain pause before realizing something is off.
That uncanny feeling continues along Lady Bird Lake, where Wes is shown sitting near the Butler Hike and Bike trail. The waterfront looks familiar—until sailboats appear drifting across the water. There are also towering pine trees lining the shore.
Article continues below this ad
The view over Ladybird Lake from one of the 48th floor penthouse apartments at Paseo on Rainey Street, May 13, 2026.
Sara Diggins/Austin American-Statesman
Elsewhere, the skyline subtly shifts into something that feels assembled from a secondhand telling of what Austin looks like. Some shots correctly include recognizable views of the Congress Avenue Bridge and South First Street bridge over Lady Bird Lake. Others introduce buildings that simply don’t exist.
The biggest offender arrives during one of the movie’s emotional climaxes.
Article continues below this ad
A brief shot of the Paramount Theatre should have been a nice local touch. Instead, the theater appears dramatically smaller than the real one, the iconic marquee uses the wrong font, and the surrounding stretch of Congress Avenue bears little resemblance to downtown Austin.
If you’re going to use one of the city’s most recognizable landmarks, at least let it look like itself.
A ‘Texas’ that resembles Canada and California
The production’s Canadian roots become impossible to miss near the end of the film, when a grocery store called Frutticana appears across the street from a Mexican restaurant named Jose’s.
Article continues below this ad
Frutticana is, in fact, a real Vancouver grocery chain. Jose’s, meanwhile, doesn’t exist in Austin.
To be fair, “Jose’s” somehow still feels believable. This is a city with Joe’s Bakery, Juan in a Million and Julio’s. They got the generic Hispanic “J” restaurant naming convention right, just not the actual restaurant.
Even the wardrobe occasionally leans too hard into Texas cosplay. Jill spends much of her time living in San Francisco wearing knee-high cowboy boots, turquoise jewelry and denim like she’s starring in an Ella Langley music video.
Voicemails for Isabelle. Zoey Deutch as Jill in Voicemails for Isabelle. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix
COURTESY OF NETFLIX
Ironically, that aesthetic is probably more common among Californians who recently moved to Texas than Texans who moved to California.
Article continues below this ad
That’s ultimately “Voicemails for Isabelle” in a nutshell.
It understands Austin more as a collection of stereotypes.
Sometimes that feeling comes through in breakfast tacos, brewery patios and 512 phone numbers. Other times it’s via sailboats on Lady Bird Lake and phantom rail lines running through downtown.
Article continues below this ad
For locals, half the fun is spotting the difference. The movie may not always know exactly where it is, but it knows enough about Austin’s personality to make us forgive most of the mistakes — even if we’re still wondering why nobody thought to put the Cowboys on television.