![off the hook off the hook](https://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/splatoon/images/d/d7/OffTheHook.jpg)
She is an aspiring singer, managed by a cretinous and violent “producer” who tells her to lose weight from her arms, put on weight on her backside and dress sexy. Although Off the Hook is largely given the quirky slapstick treatment – all bright colours and madcap dashes around Paris – Manon’s storyline has more sinister undertones that seem at odds with its jolly presentation. Manon, meanwhile, finds herself being humiliated online. Either I am not getting the joke, or I am alone in not having any desire to log in to my exes’ emails to see what they have been up to this week. There is an odd undercurrent of “well, everyone does it, right?”.
![off the hook off the hook](https://wallpapercave.com/wp/wp4753462.png)
When he changes his passwords and blocks her, she turns up at his workplace, ranting about how she still loves him. She also logs in to his emails and keeps tabs on his social media. That isn’t hyperbole: she uses a spy app to watch him, sitting down with a bowl of popcorn as if she were about to watch a film. Léa is so obsessed with her ex-boyfriend that she stalks him to the point of arrest. They come at the project from different angles. They attempt to do a dry January on their digital lives, eschewing all devices and therefore emails, texts, social media and apps, for 30 days. Roommates Léa (Tiphaine Daviot) and Manon (Manon Azem) start to suspect that their smartphones, to which they are practically glued, are making their lives worse. T he idea behind Off the Hook (Netflix), or, to give it its French title, Détox, is intriguing.