Courtney Howard // Film Critic
BITTER CHRISTMAS
Rated R, 1 hour and 51 minutes
Directed by: Pedro Almodóvar
Starring: Bárbara Lennie, Leonardo Sbaraglia, Aitana Sánchez-Gijón, Patrick Criado, Quim Gutiérrez, Victoria Luengo, Milena Smit, Rossy de Palma
Artistic creation is an elusive, mercurial thing – and everyone’s process is different. For the fictional filmmaker featured in BITTER CHRISTMAS, ideas don’t come easily. He’s gotta start with conceptualizing a woman’s internality first and her greater obstacle second. This creative concept applies not only to the actual protagonist of the film, but to Pedro Almodóvar himself, who wrestles with this problem for the majority of his film only to cop out on delivering a compelling tale until the final 15 minutes when a spicy conflict occurs. Sadly, his meta self-awareness gets the best of him.
The plot unspools on two tracks: the 1st following fictional filmmaker Elsa (Bárbara Lennie) in 2004 and the 2nd following her ‘real life’ creator writer-director Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia) in 2026. Elsa’s been struggling with debilitating migraines and only her hunky, younger, part-time stripper/ part-time firefighter boyfriend Bonifacio (Patrick Criado) can help ease her pain. She’s also feeling scattered, attempting to figure out what her next creative undertaking will be. Yet inspiration doesn’t strike until the holidays, when, over the course of a girl’s weekend away with her pals Patricia (Victoria Luengo) and Natalia (Milena Smit), she decides to write about subjects that hit way too close to home.
Meanwhile, in the real world 20+ years later, Raúl is equally feeling tormented by a crippling bout of writer’s block. He begins to look to his loving partner Santi (Quim Gutiérrez) for creative inspiration as he too provides a calming positive force in his life, also soothing Raúl’s panic attacks. However, when his longtime assistant Mónica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón) begins to inform him of the tribulations of her own bestie’s tumultuous life, Raúl gets the idea to write autobiographical fiction, which throws his real life relationships and their complex dynamics into chaos.
Problems begin to arise almost immediately. Almodóvar’s meta-context doesn’t quite interlace sufficiently within the narrative and no amount of self-aware dialogue helps his case. Just because a writer or director acknowledges his own film’s problems by having a character inside the film state them doesn’t mean it’s all of a sudden forgiven by the audience. That’s a cheat that cheapens our relationship with what we’ve seen so far. Monica verbally railing Raúl in the park in the finale, listing almost all the complaints we too have noted, doesn’t ease our troubles. It only serves to frustrate audiences further.
We’re seeing a GOATed director wrestle with his process in real time, which is a smart concept with potentially profound commentary. He asks how much one should pilfer from their real life and how much one should ethically hold back in order to attain a story’s truth and proper creative exorcism, catharsis and enlightenment. He embraces his god-like powers as a creator, saving characters from their doom and demons. Later, Raúl is questioned by Monica, challenging “Who are you to save anyone?” And, of course, it’s the same question Almodóvar is posing to himself. He awkwardly doesn’t quite manage to express these sentiments in a satiating manner. Plus, he ends the film where it should’ve – and might have traditionally – begun, on the pained search for a story, his inner conflicts and then his inevitable breakthrough.
Listen, go for the Almodóvarian vibes and Alberto Iglesias’ melodramatic symphonic score, and stay for the casual ruminations on life and cascade of bright jewel tones as enhanced by Pau Esteve Birba’s saturated cinematography. It’s like God created the colors cherry red and royal blue solely for Almodóvar. It’s a surprise to no one that his infused palette dazzles, searing the screen with its vibrancy and radiance, acting almost as a juxtaposition to the narrative’s veritable weightlessness.
Locations like the black sand beaches of Lanzarote (located in the Canary Islands) make this a travelogue of sorts, beckoning us to abandon our troubles in a breezy island villa and get invested in fictional characters’ deep-seated traumas (like divorce and suicide attempts). Paco Delgado’s costume designs pop, from Elsa’s bright blue sweatshirt and gigantic dark Prada sunglasses to the yellow coat Mónica sports during the argument in the park.
Everyone in the cast delivers impeccable, enthralling performances. None of the cast dip into melodramatic territory despite the material being of that genetic makeup. While they’re never on screen together, Lennie and Sbaraglia share a continuum in their characters’ nuances, psyches, sensitivities and vocal intonations since one is the avatar for the other. Criado, as the stripper with the heart of gold, and Smit, as a grief-stricken mother, are magnetic, drawing us in with their soulful stylings and multi-dimensional supporting work. Plus, it’s always a pleasure to see frequent collaborator Rossy de Palma cameo, add interest to the proceedings and then knock it out of the park.
Overall, BITTER CHRISTMAS is too slow a burn and far too frustrating a watch, even with the inclusions of an elongated striptease number set to Grace Jones’ “I’ve Seen That Face Before (Libertango)” and cheeky 4th wall breaks. Vibrant primary colors and interesting moral arguments centered on creators versus their creations are enough to stoke some good graces. But the disappointment that this is far from being one of Almodóvar’s resounding cinematic achievements leaves a slightly bitter taste in our mouths.
Grade: 2.5 out of 5
BITTER CHRISTMAS plays in NY and LA on November 13, Expanding nationwide on November 25.
