First the positive: the first five minutes, in a comic-book-meets-Allen kind of way aren't that bad. But really only the first five minutes.
The film does do what's on the tin: there's a great deal of tangoes and mangoes. I may suggest, tho, that an even more apt title would be "Me, myself and I" as the filmmaker can't resist putting herself in every single shot: she's practically photobombing her own movie.
I get the premise: to reveal the grotesque side of love stories through a heavy use of symbolism. Sadly, such good premise is betrayed almost immediately, and all we get is a lot of little boring dance numbers and wheelbarrows of self-indulgent rubbish. There are several recurring themes which don't mean absolutely anything: apart from the regular mango eating and tango dancing, we get excruciatingly long sequences, for example, of the protagonist just walking on a beach. Or frowning. Or looking in the far distance.
The bottom line is: you can't film yourself doing mundane things for one hour and a half and call it an art-house movie.