I admit I am a sucker for Almodóvar. I don’t think I have ever not, at least, liked an Almodóvar pelicula. And I have loved many, including his last gem, The Room Next Door, which bowed at the 2024 Venice Film Festival, won the Golden Lion and was then maligned by some U.S. critics and unjustly overlooked for Oscars.
So, I kinda knew going into Bitter Christmas, that I would be, at the very least, entertained.
Big surprise, I loved it.
The film is entrancing from beginning to end, super dense and delightfully meta.
The auteur seems to be having a blast looking inward and outward and, also, having great fun with the medium and himself and his captivating characters.
Art is life is art. Does anyone have the right to dictate what a creative artist writes about, even when it invades painful, personal privacy?
The dual, non-linear narrative seemingly (that word again) centers on Elsa (a fantastic Bárbara Lennie), an advertising director who suffers from terrible migraines and lives with her super-supportive, super-hot, stripper/firefighter boyfriend, Bonifacio (Patrick Criado, excellent). Elsa is a former filmmaker, who made two flops and retired, and is now inspired to work on a new script, because of her relationship with Patricia (Vicky Luengo), a colleague who is being mistreated by her husband as well as her friend Natalia (Milena Smit), who is mourning the death of her son (run away sentence and plot).
Elsa’s story is set in 2004.
But we soon tune into the second saga, set in the now, and realized that Elsa’s chapters are actually being written by celebrated but now uninspired author Raúl Rossetti (Leonardo Sbaraglia), who is the Almodóvar alter-ego here.
Rossetti’s life is run by his loyal assistant, Monica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijon), until a friend’s tragedy forces her to quit. Rossetti lives with HIS hot boyfriend Santi (Quim Gutiérrez, who Bonifacio is loosely based on. The author finally finds his inspiration in Monica’s misfortunes and begins tailoring his story in that direction.
That’s where both tales converge in a clever and thought-provoking manner. My only beef with the film is that I felt it could have continued for a few more scenes.
All tech credits, as usual, are stellar, especially Agustín Almodóvar’s thrilling score.
I notice certain critics love to point out when filmmakers return to the same themes in their films and accuse them of treading the same cinematic territory over and over again and, worse, self-indulgence. What those complaining critics don’t bother to recognize is that the best artists are often drawn to the same themes, ideas—that haunt them, fascinate them—and draw inspiration from the exploration of those themes, ideas, areas of interest, and want to continue to examine and dissect—need to. After all, auteurs like Almodóvar have devoted their lives to cinema, so why not try and figure out one’s place and space in the creative process. And play with it.
Also, and importantly, fans/aficionados of said artists keep coming back to these works because they, themselves, are interested in those same themes and ideas.
So, to those whiny voices, I say, next time skip the review since it’s redundant and repetitious, anyway. You. Don’t. Get. It.
For the rest of us, and we are many, enjoy this rich and rewarding entry into the extraordinary Almodóvar film canon.
Bitter Christmas is part of the 64th New York Film Festival Main Slate.
In Spanish, with English subtitles.
