The Complex Legacy of Love Island: A Review of 'The Curse of Love Island'

London, United Kingdom Jul 26, 2026 ALN: In summer 2015, ITV revived its 00s reality format Celebrity Love Island, a show that was remembered mostly as a drunken, downmarket rival to Big Brother. Its new, slick, civilian Love Island was a slow-burn at first, but by 2017 it was one of British TV’s biggest hits. While it remains among ITV’s hottest properties, viewing figures are now more modest, with 600,000 people tuning in for its 2026 launch. Tastes have changed, but the fact that three people associated with the show – former contestants Mike Thalassitis and Sophie Gradon, and Caroline Flack, the presenter for five series – took their lives, may also have made viewers wary.

Timed to coincide with the finale of the latest series of Love Island on Monday, Prime Video has released this two-parter about the apparent “curse” that stalks the programme. It opens with former contestant Anton Danyluk, who appeared on the show in 2019, declaring that there is “no higher high than the summer you’re preparing for Love Island”. But a stint in the show’s Mallorcan villa proved less of a high for some. Luis Morrison – a 2015 Islander – says it feels “disgusting” and “embarrassing” to watch the show back. “Everyone was having sex and stuff,” he says. Malin Andersson, a 2016 contestant, says, looking back, the show feels “quite toxic … so superficial and artificial”. Watching footage of herself coming into the villa for a post-elimination row with her partner, Terry, Andersson alleges there was much meddling on the part of the programme-makers: “The producers are fucking with people who can feel deep things!”

So far, so not shocking; these are all criticisms that could have been levelled at Celebrity Love Island in 2005, or pretty much any other reality dating show. However, the documentary delves deeper into the psychological toll that the show has taken on its contestants. Towards the end of the first episode and into the second, things get darker. Steven Douglass – a close friend of Gradon’s – speaks about her “zest for life” before the show, and the “spark” that faded once she was in the public eye and a victim of relentless trolling. Thalassitis was given the nickname “Muggy Mike” for his apparently sneaky behaviour, a label that had lasting negative implications for his mental health. Former Big Brother psychologist Linda Papadopoulos comments that this kind of labeling is reductive: “You’re distilling down a multidimensional human being into a catchphrase.” Gradon died in 2018, Thalassitis in 2019. There was, says journalist Caroline Frost, “a pattern forming” around Love Island.

The issue with discussing the tragic deaths of these individuals is that the complexities surrounding mental health and suicide are often oversimplified in media narratives. The documentary touches on these complexities but does not fully explore them. Papadopoulos states, “This isn’t about trying to point at a show, or a company, or a person.” Yet much of the documentary concentrates on the programme rather than the myriad factors at play, including online vitriol, financial pressures, family problems, existing mental health conditions, relationship issues, rolling media coverage, and the mind-bending reality of instant fame. Marcel Somerville, who appeared in the 2017 series, reflects on the changes made in contestant care since those tragedies, suggesting that “if the care that is currently being offered to contestants was being offered back then, it might have had a better bearing for Mike.” However, it is crucial to note that the increase in care for Love Island’s contestants – which now includes therapy, contact for 14 months post-show, and advice on finances, social media, and adjusting to their new lives – was a response to the tragedies that occurred. We can speculate on whether earlier intervention could have made a difference, but the reality is that we will never know.

Dave Read, who has managed many former Islanders, including Thalassitis, asserts that the media have got it “so wrong” when it comes to drawing a direct line between the show and Thalassitis’s death. This highlights a broader issue within media narratives surrounding reality television, where the complexities of individual circumstances are often eclipsed by sensationalism. Danyluk’s frank testimony, rooted in two experiences on the show, serves as a poignant reminder of the psychological impact of reality TV. As reported in the press in 2024, he became a heavy drinker and drug user after Love Island and even attempted to take his own life. Incredibly, he would later return for Love Island: All Stars in 2024, driven by a desire to close that chapter of his life. Danyluk describes that experience as feeling “a lot more produced” than his first stint on the show. While there was more support for contestants the second time around, he felt that this increased duty of care was undermined by producers who provoked situations that led to online backlash. “I wouldn’t do reality TV ever again,” he asserts, encapsulating the mixed feelings many former contestants have about their experiences.

Read points out the harsh realities of the industry, stating, “You need skin like a rhinoceros to be able to deal with this industry. That’s not a Love Island thing, that’s the whole industry. It’s savage.” The Curse of Love Island raises valid points about the difficulties faced by reality TV participants, yet it risks oversimplifying the broader context in which these issues exist. The show does not exist in a vacuum; it is part of a larger landscape of reality television that often prioritizes entertainment value over the well-being of its participants. The philosopher Mark Fisher wrote in Capitalist Realism in 2009: “Reality TV is continually haunted by questions about fiction and illusion.” In the years since, the massive expansion of social media has only intensified that uncanny boundary between real life and entertainment, performance and documentary, pathos and bathos. The real issue may not be the so-called "Curse of Love Island," but rather the well-worn curse of overnight fame, which can distort reality and place immense pressure on individuals.

As the documentary concludes, it leaves viewers with a sense of unease about the nature of reality television and its impact on those who participate in it. The legacy of Love Island is complicated; while it has provided entertainment for millions, it has also raised critical questions about mental health, the ethics of reality television, and the responsibilities of producers towards their contestants. The broader implications of these discussions extend beyond Love Island itself, touching on the nature of fame in the digital age and the psychological toll that can accompany it.

The Curse of Love Island is on Prime Video now.

In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on freephone 116 123. In the US, you can call or text the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline on 988, chat on 988lifeline.org, or text HOME to 741741 to connect with a crisis counselor. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international helplines can be found at befrienders.org