Society of the Snow (2023)

Direction: Juan Antonio Bayona
Country: Spain / USA

From the Spanish director of The Orphanage (2007) and The Impossible (2012), Juan Antonio Bayona, Society of the Snow is a moving tale of survival against all odds and a magnificent lesson in courage and hope. Adapting Pablo Vierci’s book of the same name, Bayona, along with his three co-writing associates, solidly depicts the 1972 crash in the Andes Mountains of an Uruguayan Air Force plane transporting a rugby team from Montevideo to Santiago. 16 people miraculously survive in unimaginable conditions after 72 days of being stranded, facing extreme cold, hunger, and complex moral dilemmas.

The film provides an uncomfortable viewing experience, offering an overwhelming and anguishing account of a terrible accident. The cumulative visual effects is powerful enough to get you caught in the gut, exposing horror and suffering at different levels while also enhancing the courage and the hope of these brave men with stunning precision and grueling agitation.

The movie's greatest strength lies in its visuals, supported by a nausea-inspiring sense of survivalism that shifts gears into noble acts of kindness, compassion, and collective trust. The plane crash is breathtaking in its technical magnificence, but the emotions, despite numerous close-ups and moments of high tension, ebb and flow.

Having said that, while Society of the Snow may not be a constant nail-biter, there’s enough of an emotional engine driving interest in the story. Magnified by Pedro Luque’s sharp cinematography, this stress-inducing film offers a sensory experience tcapable of accelerating your heartbeat and diverting your mind from minor troubles.

20,000 Species of Bees (2023)

Direction: Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren
Country: Spain

20,000 Species of Bees marks a poignant and delicately crafted debut for Spanish filmmaker Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren. Her sensitive work comes with conscientious observations, deserving praise. Managing to fill the gap between the simplicity of her filmmaking process and the complexity of the issues raised by the story, Solaguren fixates her gaze on Cocó (Sofia Otero), an eight-year-old transgender girl searching for answers and an identity. The time spent with her mother, Ane (Patricia López Arnaiz), and remaining family in her grandmother’s house, which is forever linked to beekeeping, will be determinant to reach an inevitable conclusion. All family members are affected and react differently.

Unfolding in the Basque Country, the narrative, inspired by the tragic real-life case of a 16-year-old who took their own life while awaiting hormone treatment, delves into the mental and physical struggles of not being born in the right body. Simultaneously, it explores the professional challenges and moral dilemmas faced by Ane, as well as the strained relationship with her passive-aggressive mother, Lita (Itziar Lazkano).

The international recognition is not surprising since rarely a film reflected on sexual identity with such clarity, moving forward with firmness without avoiding obstacles. The slow-paced developments serve to reinforce ideas, clarify relationships and positions, and establish a deep connection with the characters. And we are struck by the touching performance of Sofia Otero. This is a sincere and painful portrait that, while breathing intensely, avoids relying on pathos.

The Beasts (2023)

Direction: Rodrigo Sorogoyen
Country: Spain 

This oppressive and often disturbing rural thriller set in the mountains of Galicia is cold as ice, and comes packed with a nerve-wracking tension that will take your breath away. The Beasts is a powerful work of nightmarish force by Rodrigo Sorogoyen (The Candidate, 2018), who, inspired by the uncomfortable atmosphere of Carlos Saura’s movies (The Hunt, 1966; Cria Cuervos, 1976), excels by reaching mastery dimensions in the direction, storytelling, editing, and staging. 

A French couple, Antoine (Denis Ménochet) and Olga (Marina Foïs), has been living their dream as ecological farmers in a small village in Galicia for a few years. They also have another business on the side, restoring abandoned houses to facilitate repopulation. However, rough peasant neighbors - brothers Xan (Luis Zahera) and Lorenzo (Diego Anido) - who have their own reasons for being frustrated with life, resolve minor conflicts with provocation and confrontation, both physical and verbal.

These characters are very easy to decipher but hard to digest. There’s a major shift of focus in the story line that caught me by surprise and whose resolution left me speechless. This is a rigorous, terrifying and implacable portrait of neighborhood harassment; and its topics - eco farms, renewable energy opportunities, resentment, xenophobia - are very current.

Benefitting from incredibly sincere performances from the four leads, Sorogoyen doles out a dark, shattering piece of filmmaking that is as brutal as it is essential.

Alcarrás (2022)

Direction: Carla Simón
Country: Spain 

Alcarrás is an aptly mounted and realistic drama that, even without echoing long after its ending, deals passively with a family of peach farmers confronted with modern day’s changes under the veil of progression. Facing eviction from the land they’ve been cultivating for ages and losing their game to big companies and economic interests, the Solés have their livelihood threatened in the small rural village of Alcarrás in Catalonia. 

In order to make her sophomore feature more genuine, director Carla Simón chose to work with non-professional actors, inhabitants of this region of Spain who speak a very specific Catalan dialect. The relatively extensive ensemble cast in this film mirrors her own family, and it is by measuring the impact on family that she finds the heart of her film. She aims right but without surprise. There's a touch of contrivance to the set-up, but the performances strike some balance between heartfelt and hand-wringing. We have seen this before and done better, and yet, the intention is sincere if not too soulful or demonstrative. 

The personality of each adult comes to fore, while the children, always getting in the middle of things and living in their own world, create more friction during an extremely difficult situation. The actors end up being the true catalyzers of the story. 

Faithful to a naturalistic approach, Simón engages in repetitive scenarios to give substance to the sad reality of an incomprehensible precariousness.

Official Competition (2022)

Direction: Gastón Duprat and Mariano Cohn 
Country: Spain / Argentina 

The pair of Argentinean directors, Mariano Cohn and Gastón Duprat, made ten films together, with the heavily awarded The Distinguished Citizen (2016) as a standout. Their newest work, Official Competition, is a satirical spoof structured around the rehearsals for the shooting of a film financed by a bored stiff billionaire businessman. 

Even if not always surprising, and playing a bit too long for my taste, the film revealed to be more engaging than I was expecting. A very confident Penelope Cruz appears in top form as a lesbian avant-garde director who knows what she wants. Her investment in the film is matched by Antonio Banderas and Oscar Martinez, who play talented awarded actors with huge egos and different levels of ambition. 

The film delves into complex relationships in cinema, usually hidden from the public, as they happen behind the scenes. And because we have fine experienced actors playing actors and directors, the whole thing makes even more sense, and some truth lurks from behind the wild and funny absurdity of the scenes.

The directors, borrowing the minimalist scenarios of Lars Von Trier’s Dogville and Manderlay for a bit, openly address rivalries, hypocrisy, banalities, and occasionally improper behavior during the process of an artistic creation. This Competition is a pitch-perfect joke that, at times, breaks up the vibes with unevenly inspired sketches. However, it never runs totally out of steam.

Maixabel (2022)

Direction: Iciar Bollaín
Country: Spain

Based on the true story of Maixabel Lasa, this well-rounded political drama, which never moves into giddy thriller territory, stars Blanca Portillo as the title character. This is a woman who, eleven years after the assassination of her husband - the former civil governor of Guipúzcoa - decides to meet with two of the three men who killed him. They are Luis Carrasco (Urko Olazabal) and Ibon Etxezarreta (Luis Tosar), former ETA terrorists who now live miserably with guilt and remorse. 

At its best, the film offers the clear-eyed objectivity of a healing program, while still establishing a moral outrage. It’s a tough topic tackled with open-hearted sincerity by director and co-writer Iciar Bollaín (Take My Eyes, 2003). Yet, the film shows some limitations in the insight offered about ETA. The very ordinary staging will not impress enthusiasts of sophisticated aesthetics or trendy techniques, but that’s not the director’s intention either. The more strangulated the plot gets, the more we lose adherence to a story that will appeal more to those interested in the recent Spanish history.

Maixabel is depicted as a woman with heart and courage, a true image of dialogue and reconciliation. “Everyone deserves a second chance”, she says. The healing is for both sides.

The Good Boss (2022)

Direction: Fernando León de Aranoa
Country: Spain 

The keen sense of observation demonstrated by Spanish writer/director Fernando León de Aranoa (better known for the sympathetic working-class dramedy Mondays in the Sun, 2002) is on full display in The Good Boss, a timeless, biting comedy with Javier Bardem at the center. This film, an amusing caricature of the so-called corporate values and their politically incorrect behavior, marks the third collaboration between the actor and the director. Their last work together was in 2017, a mediocre biopic about the Colombian druglord Pablo Escobar titled Loving Pablo. 

Unlike the latter, the screenplay of this one was well driven, offering a dark yet funny portrait of Julio Blanco (Bardem), the manipulative heir and owner of an industrial scale manufacturing business. This well-spoken charmer appears to employ perfection and equilibrium in everything he does. But, at the very bottom, he’s completely alienated by his materialistic ambition; a sly opportunist who uses and abuses his employees whenever it’s convenient. 

While expecting the visit of a local committee that could give him a prestigious and financially advantageous business award, he deals with a series of problems: a recently fired middle-aged employee (Óscar de la Fuente) decided to camp outside the factory and protest vehemently against the unjust measure; a long-time production manager and childhood friend (Manolo Solo) can no longer be trusted at work since his wife is cheating on him; and an irresistible young intern (Almudena Amor) wants more of the boss's attention. 

The rapture of The Good Boss is fed by Bardem’s charisma, the smart and humorous lines, and the fluidity of the story. What we have here is playful cinema at its breeziest, one that combines incisive social commentary and a fierce, funny sneer.

Parallel Mothers (2021)

Direction: Pedro Almodóvar
Country: Spain 

Contents and style converge smoothly and seductively in Parallel Mothers, the most recent effort from Pedro Almodóvar. The acclaimed Spanish helmer mixes motherhood - a favorite topic - with Spanish politics and serves up a scintillating feminist melodrama anchored by outstanding performances from Penelope Cruz and Milena Smit. This is the seventh time that the former actress works under the guidance of Almodóvar. Smit, in turn, joins him for the very first time. 

A few unexpected twists spice the story of two unmarried women who deal with unplanned pregnancies in different ways. Janis (Cruz) is a confident middle-aged professional photographer who wants to unearth the sad past of her family lost to fascism. Ana (Smit) is a traumatized fragile teen who doesn't know what she wants. They meet in a room of a Madrid maternity hospital where each give birth to a daughter. Further incidents will bring them even closer.

The camera lens focuses on magnify the mothers, and this is also valid for Aitana Sanchez-Gijon who plays Ana's failing mother with personality. 

In spite of dealing with life and death in an adult way, the film is not an infallible achievement, but it also doesn’t hurt the solid filmography of Almodóvar. His early flamboyant ways took a pronounced decline with Talk to Her (2002), and Parallel Mothers continues the level of maturity found in Julieta (2016) and Pain and Glory (2019), even without reaching the thought-provoking abilities of the latter film.

Well patented here is his penchant for projecting women to the center of a story while directing them with real affection.

Red Moon Tide (2021)

Direction: Lois Patiño
Country: Spain

The penetrating mystery at the core of this foreboding tale of loss, grief and abandonment, together with the film’s striking visuals and immersive narration, distinguishes Red Moon Tide as a remarkable debut feature from Spanish filmmaker and cinematographer Lois Patiño. Both the symbolism and the dichotomy between realism and surrealism bolster these tides of despair, which slowly emerge as a unique, uncanny neo-noir experience. 

The few elderly inhabitants of a small fishing village located in Costa da Morte, Galicia, lament the recent disappearance of Rubio (Rubio de Camelle), an experienced sailor who had rescued many bodies from the sea, so their families could say goodbye and have peace. Now, it was his turn to be swallowed by the sea - that monster that always comes with the moon tide. 

Rubio’s mother prays to the witches and three of them arrive from unknown places in an attempt to localize the man’s body. Every sad villager has a different theory about the case, which are presented as thoughts - some of them claim it was the furious sea that has been taking their lives little by little, some other point a peculiarly shaped rock that could have wrecked the man's boat, while other blame the poisonous dam that keeps spreading rust and corrosion all over. 

Whether captured by the slow movements of the camera or spotted in still frames that stress the village’s inertia, the ghosts appear in a simplistic form (like in David Lowery’s A Ghost Story) and pose with an aesthetic appeal. It’s all lugubrious, esoteric and bemusedly enchanting, with major contributions of sound designer Juan Carlos Blancas and the cinematographic art of Patiño. 

Very ambitious in its purpose and structure, Red Moon Tide rests in an infinite limbo of mourning. Unlike most of the films we see, the uncontrollable sea and sinister moon are the enemies that engulf everyone in a deep and disturbing melancholy.

White On White (2021)

Direction: Théo Court
Country: Spain

White on White, the sophomore feature from Spanish-born director of Chilean heritage Théo Court, can be described as a neo-western with glowing images but a grim soul. As a strange melancholy surrounds us through impressionistic well-lit interiors and the now snowy, now arid landscape of Tierra Del Fuego, we are drawn into a vortex of darkness whose epicenter is a mysterious, wealthy and unseeable landowner called Mr. Porter. The latter hires a meticulous photographer, Pedro (Alfredo Castro), to take pictures of his future wife, Sara (Esther Vega Perez), who is still a child. She fascinates Pedro in an artistic way (I want to believe) but his intentions are taken as an offense after the first session. The place has limited accessibility and the atmosphere ranges from gloomy to hostile.

With the wedding postponed, Pedro realizes how sad is the life of the ones inhabiting the propriety, where most of them drink to overcome the solitude. The men not only take pleasure in killing the Selk’nam, an indigenous people of the Patagonia region, but also are rewarded for that. Pedro feels trapped and forced to participate in these manhunts, even if he refuses to kill.

To better understand the film’s mood you can consider a crossing between Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness and Antonio di Benedetto’s Zama. There’s an inescapable sense of trauma and perversion throughout, with a finale that lifts the veil on the ignominious complicity of Pedro, who, betraying his principles, seems to opt for immoral work instead of going crazy. 

The apt performance by Castro (who earned accolades in Pablo Larrain’s Tony Manero, Post Mortem and The Club) and the breathtaking cinematography by José Ángel Alayón help us conquer the languorous pace of the story.

Fire Will Come (2020)

Direction: Oliver Laxe
Country: Spain

Ambiguity and judgmental behavior mark Fire Will Come, the third feature film of French-born Spanish cineaste Oliver Laxe (You All Are Captains, 2010; Mimosas, 2016), who co-wrote it with Santiago Fillol.

The story follows Amador Coro (Amador Arias), a convicted arsonist, as he returns to his house in the Galician mountain range of Los Ancares, after doing time for setting a whole mountain on fire. At a first glance he seems welcomed with a certain coldness by his elderly mother, Benedicta (Benedicta Sánchez), but after a while she rejoices in having him in the house and helping her with the few cows she still keeps.

Quiet, aimless and isolated, Amador dismisses the company of the locals and even refuses to work for his neighbor Inazio (Inazio Brao), who is rebuilding a decrepit house and the surrounding area in order to attract tourism. The exception to the rule is Elena (Elena Fernández), a vet who seems to like him but subtly changes posture after hearing about his conviction by the same provocative men who sometimes upset him with questions like: “Amador, do you have a light?”

Advocating 100% of great-looking realism, Laxe drives this caravan of non-professional actors from Sierra de Ancares with unobtrusive rigor and delivers a powerful, if poignant, finale that really gets to you in a strange way.

Purists of the cinema will be in heaven with this unflinching portrait of an inscrutable man who whether looks for a recovery path or to satisfy his most evil inclinations. Some might find the subject too grim and the uncertainties frustrating, in a film that sets its mood through a permanent human melancholy and the natural misty atmosphere that characterizes this part of the Galician landscape. Even if they have a point, I can’t help recommending it for the profound impression it leaves.

While at War (2020)

Direction: Alejandro Amenábar
Country: Spain / Argentina

Acclaimed Chilean-Spanish director Alejandro Amenábar makes a u-turn in his thriller-oriented filmography (Thesis, 1996; The Others, 2001; Open Your Eyes, 1997) with While at War, a historical biographical drama centered on the renowned writer/philosopher/rector Miguel de Unamuno during the 1936 Spanish coup.

Teaming up with Alejandro Hernandez (Cannibal, 2013; The Motive, 2017) in the script, Amenábar, who also produced and scored the music, creates an honest yet extremely formal portrait of the character (effectively impersonated by Karra Elejalde), a noble thinker who is caught between the rise of the fascist right wing and the fall of the 'reds'. Most of all, he shows to be reliable and frank, but is also depicted as stubborn and mercurial in his political views. Despite of that, he never vacillated in correcting his beliefs whenever the circumstances proved him wrong.  

The film is not the epic that Amenábar envisioned since it struggles with some stiffness and timidness on a regular basis. Nevertheless, the shortage of narrative agility is compensated with historical substance, notable production values (Goya award winning for best production and costume designs), Alex Catalan’s beautiful photography, and clarity in the exposition of a looming, dangerous dictatorship in the guise of patriotism. Moreover, Eduard Fernández and Santi Prego are particularly convincing as the wild general José Millán-Astray and the temperate dictator Francisco Franco, respectively.

Sunday's Illness (2018) - capsule review

Direction: Ramón Salazar
Country: Spain

Exhibiting a severe, intriguing mood, this film could have been much more effective if the director, Ramón Salazar, didn’t have stretched a few scenes into the limit while packing them with a lugubrious gloominess. Somewhat painful to watch in all its human suffering and ultimately redemption.

Pain and Glory (2019)

Direction: Pedro Almodovar
Country: Spain

Pain and Glory is a stunning, confessional statement by the fabulous Spanish auteur Pedro Almodovar, who, at the age of 70, unveils his personal demons on the screen with respectable maturity. His story is strong, filled with weighty childhood memories, painful experiences, and unresolved relationships, all of them factors conducive to corporal pains, soul afflictions, and creative blockages.

Antonio Banderas is Salvador Mallo, a once successful filmmaker now confined to a life of reclusion in Madrid due to a restrictive aching spine, intrinsic asthma, panic and anxiety, and a multitude of other ailments, both physical and psychological. 

Emotionally insecure and under the effect of anxiolytics, Salvador often revives his childhood in his long naps, picturing episodes of the small village in Valencia where he lived in the 60’s. Most of those episodes involve his late mother, Jacinta (Penélope Cruz), and Eduardo (César Vicente), the first man he was attracted to at the age of nine. Curiously, some expressions of the young Salvador, performed by Asier Flores, reminded me of the protagonist of Cinema Paradiso, also called Salvatore. Evocation or coincidence?

At the same time that memories keep emerging from his subconscious, Salvador reconnects with the actor Alberto Crespo (Asier Etxeandia), with whom he fell out 32 years before. The latter had become as torpid as the director, and they both seal their fresh association with heroin. Addiction knocks on Salvador’s door, but an incidental visit from a former lover, Federico (Leonardo Sbaraglia), helps him put life in perspective.

We hadn’t seen an Almodovar so lucid and passionate for so long, in what is an earnest examination of himself. Pain and Glory is affectionately crafted with courage and intimacy, being nourished by Banderas’ focused performance in order to triumph. Emotionally, we feel we are stepping on familiar Almodovar ground, but there’s a new breeze in his storytelling and a functional plasticity in his filmmaking style that makes this film rising above any of his recent works. In the end, hope and confidence illuminate both Salvador and Almodovar, which is something to be delighted for. 

Quien Te Cantara? (2019)

Direction: Carlos Vermut
Country: Spain

Influenced by the Spanish pop culture and a few master directors, Madrid-born Carlos Vermut assembled his third feature, Quien Te Cantara?, with poetic, dramatic, and uncanny tones. Lamentably, the fine gothic tinge applied to the imagery couldn’t hamper the story, set in Rota, Andalucia, from feeling tediously monochromatic.

Lila Cassen (Najwa Nimri), the most celebrated pop star in Spain, inexplicably vanished from the stages for ten years. When she finally decides for a comeback tour, an accident steals her memory, putting all her fortune and high-end lifestyle at stake. The good news is that her amnesia seems to be partial since she was able to recognize herself and Shakira in pictures.

Her devoted agent and longtime friend, Blanca Guerrero (Carme Elias), is disquieted with the situation, realizing that touring is imperative for the artist's future. And that’s when she devises a weird plan to have Lila learning how to be herself again with the help of a staunch admirer and flawless imitator, Violeta (Eva Llorach), a karaoke performer who is manipulated and abused by her insolent 23-year-old daughter Marta (Natalia de Molina). Marked by an inner sadness, the two women become closer, sharing laughs and tears, and their past and present slowly blur into an opaque transference of identities.

Laced with revelational yet laborious self-examinations, this is a sleep-inducing melodrama that never earns what it works so hard to accomplish. Except for the mother/daughter scenes, whose sudden emotional catharsis is reminiscent of Ingmar Bergman, the film lingers in a lethargic narrative, while probing, sometimes in the same scene, Fassbinder-like decadence and Hitchcockian mystery.

With occasional stiffness and an unattractive score getting in the way, Quien Te Cantara? is not as mesmerizing as Vermut’s previous neo-noir, Magical Girl (2014).

The Realm (2019)

Direction: Rodrigo Sorogoyen
Country: Spain

Teaming up for the second time in their careers, director Rodrigo Sorogoyen (Stockholm; May God Save Us) and actor Antonio de la Torre (Cannibal; A Twelve-Year Night) star in The Realm, a fast-paced political thriller set in Spain. The film packs a wealth of revelatory truth about the way things really unfold in political spheres, working as a wake-up call for dirty political schemes that accommodate high-end lifestyles as well as a character study that exposes a shameless corrupt and tenacious snob.

The charismatic regional vice-secretary Manuel Lopez Vidal (de la Torre) devised an illegal stratagem to fill his pockets fast, but is unmasked when his close friend, Paco (Nacho Fresneda) is accused of corruption. Recordings of compromising phone conversations are leaked and, suddenly, the prosperous, easy life of the politician is jeopardized by a thorough investigation that can send him to jail.

Prepotent and arrogant, Manuel detests being discarded by the members of his own party, but things get much worse when Amaia Marin (Bárbara Lennie), a fearless reporter, decides to uncover his misconducts publicly. Even so, this perfidious man thinks that confidence and persuasiveness can save him.

In front of everyone are the usual scandals that bring politicians down: luxurious vacations in exotic destinies, bribery and fraud, influence peddling and money laundry, conspiracy and corruption, and even those long, exorbitant lunches stuffed with roly-poly prawns and pretentious poses.

Although the dramatic heat is limited and the final section - the one infused with some action - is a bit strained, there are details deserving attention. The Realm doesn’t cover new ground in the shadier tactics of politicians, but is ingeniously acted and well-meaning in its efforts to denounce their outrageous behaviors, impudent attitude, and obsession for power.

The Tree of Blood (2019)

Direction: Julio Medem
Country: Spain

Layered like a zigzagging soap opera and mounted with a pretentious artificiality, The Tree of Blood leads us to unexciting places. The story focuses on two lovers, Marc (Álvaro Cervantes) and Rebeca (Úrsula Corberó), who return to their hometown in the Basque Country, Spain, with the purpose of unveiling and writing the complex stories of their families. The generational secrets emerge slowly, giving them the pleasure of discovery and imagination. After a while, they realize that two brothers strangely tie their family trees.

Marc’s mother, Nuria (Lucía Delgado), married Olmo (Joaquín Furriel), a secretive man with connections to the Russian mafia. In turn, Rebeca discloses that Olmo’s brother, Victor (Daniel Grao), was the man who raised her after her mother has been admitted in a hospice for mental illness treatment. Unexpectedly, all the amusement of the young couple radically changes when their personal secrets start to be revealed.

San Sebastian-born director Julio Medem mixes a tiny bit of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s surrealism, the tension of Alejandro Amenabar’s crime thrillers, and the eroticism that his own previous films had already shown, cases of Sex and Lucia (2001) and Room in Rome (2010). However, everything is sloppily glued-up, and the film becomes an abominable part-erotic, part-psychological pastiche.

Extra care was given to the cinematography, wonderfully controlled by Kiko de la Rica (the black-and-white of Blancanieves remains his best pictorial achievement), who rejoins the director after the disastrous Ma Ma (2015). The images of The Tree of Blood exhibit that sophisticated gloss worthy of a classy art-house film. However, under the surface, lies an empty soul. As opposed to transgressive and original, the film got stuck in stereotypes, becoming narratively ineffectual and dramatically unenjoyable. The nature of the script demanded focus as well as a taut, responsive execution, something that Medem was unable to enforce.

Everybody Knows (2018)

Directed by Asghar Farhadi
Country: Spain / France / Italy

The work of some distinguished directors loses the charm and often the focus when they operate in a different cultural milieu. This syndrome seems to have caught Iranian master Asghar Farhadi, who gave us gems like About Elly (2009), A Separation (2011), and The Salesman (2016). Sad to say he stains his filmography with Nobody Knows, a fictional thriller set in Spain that unfolds monotonously and only sporadically piques our interest. Orienting a luxurious cast that includes Javier Bardem, Penelope Cruz and Ricardo Darin, Farhadi failed to provide startles and thrills, relying solely on the dramatic side of things to impress. But even that factor was disastrous as he tiresomely attempts to suggest connections between the past and the present.

The film starts by capturing some newspaper clippings that reveal the disappearance of a little girl named Carmen. When Laura (Cruz) arrives at her small, picturesque hometown with their three children to attend her sister’s wedding, she couldn’t imagine she had been already chosen as an indirect target for something similar. In recent years, she has been living in Buenos Aires, where her architect husband, Alejandro (Darin), remained due to work commitments.

The wedding’s festivities suddenly turn into a river of tears when Laura’s teen daughter, Irene (Carla Campra), disappears mysteriously. She had been kidnapped while resting in her room and the ransom is 30 thousand euros. Obviously, there was a mole at the party and the kidnappers can be either family or friends. Jorge (José Ángel Egido ), a retired policeman who acts as he knows all the answers, studies possible motives and tries to find a logic for the puzzle.

All the same, the only one with the financial means to resolve the imbroglio is Paco (Bardem), Laura’s former lover, who is well established as a local vineyard owner. Intriguingly, Paco’s wife, Bea (Bárbara Lennie), receives the same warnings from the kidnappers. Secrets are unveiled slowly and unsavorily, while the drama becomes a disorganized spiral of affective manipulations.

Farhadi keeps on working family themes, but with a voice that lacks articulation. He brings a bit of Almodovar during the colorful party and the dramatic flair of Susanne Bier, but everything is inconsistently pasted with a melodramatic television air. There’s little to differentiate this film from other generic drama-thrillers out there, and even if the images shine bright, they were not enough to make Everybody Knows glittering like gold. To tell the truth, this was more of a pale experience that puts Farhadi under pressure for his next move.

Julieta (2016)

Directed by Pedro Almodovar
Country: Spain

After watching the gloomy drama “Julieta”, we come to the conclusion that Pedro Almodovar, perhaps the most emblematic film director of the current Spain, continues very far from the artistry of his early works but fairly ahead of the ridiculousness of "I’m So Excited!", his previous film.

The 20th feature film of Almodovar’s directorial career was inspired by three short stories, “Chance”, “Soon” and “Silence”, by Alice Munro, a Canadian Nobel Prize winner.
Adopting the same strategy of the writer, Almodovar sets the story back and forth in time, relying on Alberto Iglesias’s dismal musical score and well-planned close-ups to extend its dramatic perimeter.

Julieta (Emma Suárez) has almost everything prepared to finally leave Madrid and move to Portugal with her boyfriend Lorenzo (Darío Grandinetti). However, she decides to cancel this longtime planned trip after bumping into Beatriz (Michelle Jenner), a childhood friend of her estranged daughter, Antia, who left home when she was 18 to a spiritual retreat and never came back or contacted her again. 
While vacationing in Lake Cuomo, Beatriz saw Antia with her three children and the latter’s reaction wasn’t the best.

Even without an address, Julieta, decides to write a final letter to Antia, where she unravels more about her daughter’s father, Xoan (Daniel Grao), a humble fisherman who had been unfaithful to her with Ava (Inma Cuesta), an artist friend from his hometown.
The story winds back to the moment when a young and bold Julieta (Adriana Ugarte), in her early twenties, meets Xoan on a train and makes love to him in one of the cars. Months later, after a successful first experience as a classic literature teacher, she abdicates from work in order to live near the sea with Xoan, whose wife had recently died. Already pregnant, she was welcomed by Marian (Rossy de Palma), a moody maid who tried to warn her about Xoan’s weaknesses.

Almodovar urges us to immerse ourselves into a complex emotional entanglement that only gave half of what was promised in a first instance. 
The tragedy, cooked with lugubrious tones, failed to reach the depth intended and leaves a bitter taste in the mouth after the credits roll. 

The dazzling cinematography by Jean-Claude Larrieu was the only outstanding feature since Almodovar lacked the ability to explore his own script in a way to escape the conventional. Even with some interesting moments, this is a modest pic from a talented director from whom we expect more and better.

The Bride (2015)

Directed by Paula Ortiz
Country: Spain / Germany

Paula Ortiz’ sophomore feature, “The Bride”, is a good enough dramatization of Federico Garcia Lorca’s 1933 Spanish tragedy “Blood Wedding”.

The screenplay, written by Ms. Ortiz and Javier García, is packed with emotional charge and suffocating atmospheres in a film that exhibits arid landscapes, eroded houses, and a love triangle that ends up in a terrible adversity. 
Despite the mediocre musical score, the final product can be pronounced as artistic due to the beautiful cinematography, efficient camera work, and a well-streamlined editing. However, Ms. Ortiz could have dropped the intense theatrical approach in favor of something a bit more cinematic and even contemporary. Moreover, the two male protagonists, Álex García and Asier Etxeandia, couldn’t match the performances of Inma Cuesta and Luisa Gavasa.

Three childhood friends, a woman and two men, see their lives dangerously standing at the edge of an abyss when two of them decide to marry each other. The bride (Cuesta) and groom (Etxeandia), whose names are never revealed, are apparently happy and exchange promises of eternal love. Yet, the reality is quite more complicated than that, since their friend, Leonardo (García), who’s already married to the bride’s cousin (Leticia Dolera), can’t hide his true love. The bride is also divided and can’t refrain the uncontrollable attraction that is triggered whenever Leonardo is around. 
So, it's no surprise to anybody that the wedding is a big mistake and is condemned to fail.
On her wedding night, Leonardo takes her on horseback to the woods in order to commit the sin that will ruin their lives forever.
The supernatural component is successfully added with the presence of the spirit of an old hag who distributes glass knives so that justice can be done.
With reference to the performances, the groom’s bitter mother (Gavasa) was the one who impressed me most.

Appealing to the senses, “The Bride” conveys fate, guilt, and anguish with relentless fixations but fails to build an impactful crescendo. Curiously, the beginning of the film is much more capable than the ending because something is lost in the middle. Still, this was decent enough to deserve a peek.