Review by Eric Hillis
Directed by: Pedro Almodóvar
Starring: Bárbara Lennie, Leonardo Sbaraglia, Aitana Sánchez-Gijón, Milena Smit, Carmen Machi, Rossy de Palma
Pedro Almodóvar's latest work is a multi-layered meta piece of presumably self-confessional autofiction. With Bitter Christmas, the Spanish writer/director has made a film about a writer/director making a film about a writer/director. You suspect Almodóvar is writing about himself to a degree. So is his fictional filmmaker Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia), and so is Raúl's own fictional creation Elsa (Bárbara Lennie).
So much of Bitter Christmas's running time is spent on Elsa's plot that it's jolting whenever the film bring sus back to Raúl and reminds us that we're watching a story within a story. Elsa's story takes place in 2004 (there have been so few developments in fashion and style in the last two decades that it is only the presence of flip-phones and a cassette deck that signifies that era) and opens with her being struck by debilitating headaches. Elsa is forced to seek help from her younger boyfriend Bonifacio (Patrick Criado) and her friend Patricia (Victoria Luengo), who believes her husband is having an affair while away on "business." We get the impression that Elsa doesn't like being in the position of having to rely on others, but she comes to realise how important her friends really are. This leads her to connect with another friend, Natalia (Milena Smit), who lost her child in a car crash two years ago and has become a recluse ever since.
In 2025 we find Raúl bashing all this out on his laptop. We see that the inspiration comes from his own life. Bonifacio appears to be modelled on his own younger lover Santi (Quim Gutiérrez). Just as Elsa takes Bonifacio for granted, so too does Raúl with Santi. But Raúl's primary inspiration comes from Monica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón), his personal assistant of 20 years. Raúl has just relieved her from her position but maintains a friendship. As Monica relays the awful tale of how her partner has become suicidal after losing her child to cancer, Raúl channels this into his script.
With its sunny Spanish setting, Bitter Christmas doesn't outwardly resemble a very seasonal tale. But Almodóvar has made a classic Dickensian story about a narcissistic grouch who comes to value the importance of the people in his life. Does the filmmaker feel like he has taken those around him for granted? Bitter Christmas would certainly suggest so. You imagine the movie might have a significant impact on those in Almodóvar's circle, who may recognise themselves in certain characters, but for the general audience there is an impenetrable aloofness here. Elsa and her storyline are purposely shoddy, because they are a product of a filmmaker in Raúl who isn't being honest with himself. As the film is keen to point out through its meta commentary, there is something missing from Elsa's story that would make it work.
It's only in the film's final act that things really click into place and we're made to lean forward in our seats. If we found Elsa's story a tad uninvolving, it was on purpose, admits Almodóvar. This is the sort of movie Almodóvar might make if he wasn't honest with himself, is what the Iberian auteur seems to be suggesting. But with Elsa's story taking up so much of Bitter Christmas's runtime, this is effectively the movie Almodóvar HAS made. That final act, with its explosive confrontation between Raúl and Monica, is a reminder of just how good Almodóvar can be, but I suspect a lot of viewers will struggle to engage his movie long enough to get to that point.
Bitter Christmas is in UK/ROI cinemas from August 28th.
