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Summary: A man writes, lives and loves in the darkness. He was the victim of a brutal car accident fourteen years ago in Lanzarote. Not only did he lose his sight, but also the woman of his life, Lena.
while some have cited this film's lack of zaniness as a shortcoming, i on the other hand found that it made the film more enjoyable. favorite line: films have to be finished, even if you do it blindly.
One of the most beautiful film's i've seen in a while (and that's not even factoring in Pelelope Cruz). It slips heavy into melodrama in the last 30 minutes, which I'm not even so sure is a bad thing, but has enough poignant subtleties to even it out.
"Los abrazos rotos" doesn't feature Almodóvar's most tightly conceived plot, but the gorgeous visuals, powerful performances and clever homages are enough to make this a highly entertaining guilty pleasure. Cruz shines once again, the colours are beautiful and, although the ending is surprisingly low-key and unsatisfying, it's a worthwhile endeavor overall.
As usual, Almodovar spins a good story full of twists and melodrama, but it never really delivers in the way his best films do. The characters aren't as sympathetic, I think we were just supposed to feel for them without Almodovar really making them compelling.
As a thriller it is a failure. You can solve the mystery and predict the twists right away. As a drama it is great. Characters are alive and compelling. I often struggle to explain why I liked the film, but I know it is good because it leaves something inside. This is one of those films. Nothing fancy, nothing explosive, but stays with you for quite some time. Also, it is filled with love for movies, something I easily relate to.
I really hated this and wish I could get my 2 hours back, which were spent on wading through meaningless subplots for answers to a mystery that wasn't even half-interesting. The worst part was having a character reveal all of the "secrets" in a completely unexpected and unreasonable breakdown, with the other characters stoically accepting it. I interpreted the last 10 minutes as Almodovar apologizing for making such a bad movie, either because he's blind or he forgot to edit the film properly.
Almodóvar, as is his wont, gives you splatters and splashes, swatches and swaths, of vibrant color, and he gives you the occasional rock-you-on-your-heels image (a teardrop on a ripe tomato, lovers writhing within a white-sheet cocoon), and he gives you deliberately over-the-top domestic melodrama played steadfastly straight. He doesn't, however, give you much to believe in, except in this instance the undoubted radiance of Cruz (once more)
This film is continuously spinning its wheels and never gains traction-- in the end we discover it never really had anywhere to go. All the best drama happens off screen. Large swaths of the film could have been cut with no real effect, as there is no driving action, no real story, no payoffs or revelations, consequences or even powerful emotional moments-- everything is down played by the performances, every character seems barely to care what happens to them.