Director: Pedro Almodóvar
Writer: Pedro Almodóvar
Stars: Bárbara Lennie, Leonardo Sbaraglia, Aitana Sánchez-Gijón
Synopsis: In 2004, an ad director faces a turbulent Christmas weekend. In 2026, a filmmaker turns her story into a screenplay, blurring the lines between reality, fiction, and the people closest to him.
What is the most defining characteristic of a film from Pedro Almodóvar? The most obvious trait that jumps to mind is bound to be his striking use of vibrant colors. Pick any random frame from Almodóvar’s illustrious career and you’re bound to be struck by the delicious color palette on display. The aesthetic impact Almodóvar has left on cinema is major enough on its own for him to be remembered forever. But Almodóvar’s films also contain so much depth beneath their aesthetic footprints. Beyond the lusciousness of his filmography, each film by Almodóvar is one that is overflowing with emotions. His melodramatic tendencies are an absolute delight time and time again. And there are simply so few filmmakers who could ever match his gifted ability to cohesively sprinkle nearly every conceivable tone into a single script. To watch a film by Almodóvar is to bask in the immensity of the emotional spectrum and still end up with a smile on your face through it all. He has such a penchant for entertaining an audience despite introducing us all to a variety of characters which are often truly sad, complex individuals. His latest film, Bitter Christmas, is no different, although it does find the filmmaker explicitly interrogating himself and where these characters and their pain have all stemmed from over the years. It’s a work of art that is profoundly personal, and Almodóvar is making no attempt at covering up that fact.
With this film, Almodóvar is effectively telling on himself a bit. Bitter Christmas finds Almodóvar writing a story about a filmmaker who can’t help but put the emotions and circumstances of his life and that of those around him directly into his work. It’s the framework around which the entirety of this film functions. Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia) has been in a creative rut for some time, yet is working on the titular film which will hopefully rejuvenate his artistic sensibilities. Beyond the obvious metatextual elements that make up an incredibly rich subtext as Almodóvar reveals so much of himself through Raúl, this framing device is also an incredibly clever way to imbue the film with all the classic Almodóvar traits audiences have loved for decades now.
The story-within-a story takes place in 2004, centered around Elsa (Bárbara Lennie) as she finds herself dealing with a sudden flare of health troubles and an equally frustrating blockage in her filmmaking career. The audience meets Elsa and she immediately finds herself going through it. A migraine flare-up appears out of nowhere, and it is heightened as far as possible. Almodóvar frames this situation as the worst conceivable evening imaginable; so much so that, after what only feels like a few moments, she demands to be taken to the hospital by her boyfriend, Bonifacio (Patrick Criado). This may all feel sudden, but Almodóvar breezily guides his audience through the table setting of his film seamlessly. After all, Almodóvar has had Raúl throw the audience right into the middle of a story. It would appear that whatever is going on in Elsa’s life that we are unaware of is causing her body to lash out. The immediate interactions with hospital staff make a great entry point for the classic humor Almodóvar excels at. It’s a bit awkward, it’s a bit blunt, and it’s more than a bit revealing for all the characters involved. This sort of levity would work wonderfully as it stands. Yet Almodóvar’s framing of this being a story-in-progress allows him complete freedom to really elevate his usual sensibilities even further. It allows the melodrama to feel even more tongue-in-cheek. It allows for efficient storytelling through wonderful flashbacks and expositional dialogue that functions meaningfully. Almodóvar simply makes it work. But Almodóvar’s career hasn’t flourished with so many fascinating films over the decades simply because he makes quirky films that look good and balance tone beautifully. It’s because he has a distinct flair for storytelling that arguably remains his most vital trait as a filmmaker. It all lies in his respectful, compassionate treatment of these characters.
To be a character in an Almodóvar film is to face some sort of tragedy or deep-rooted sadness. It’s practically unavoidable. These circumstances often operate in tandem with one another when looking at the example of his most well-written characters. But he’s not the sort of filmmaker who revels in torturing the characters he writes. It’s so obvious how deeply he cherishes each person’s struggle in any of his films. He wants to protect them from their pain as best he can. Almodóvar is really great at forming a support system around these people when they need it most, particularly when the larger systems around them, such as society or their own families, have failed them. And this isn’t solely an endearing element of Almodóvar’s films. Perhaps most importantly, his typically heightened nature never undercuts this essential characteristic. It instead allows moments of catharsis to be that much more fulfilling. This care baked into Almodóvar’s work is part of what makes Bitter Christmas such a fascinating object; it is a film where Almodóvar is directly interrogating himself and the moral quandaries he faces in his work in relation to the deeply emotional circumstances present across his filmography.
Raúl, effectively a stand-in for Almodóvar, has an affectation he can’t stop. He draws so much inspiration from the world around him. That’s an understandable trait for an artist. The only issue is Raúl can sometimes be a bit too directly inspired. But as Raúl points out through Elsa’s outlook on her advertising career, she is unable to “switch off work.” Raúl and Almodóvar feel as if they are nothing without the art they put out into the world. It goes beyond merely creating for the sake of working; it is an innate calling to mine the personal and explore all the emotions present in the world within them. That will inevitably lead to pondering how others handle their emotions in relation to ourselves. Simultaneously, Bitter Christmas also finds Almodóvar directly reckoning with the imprint of his legacy. He’s been making films since 1980, and over such an expansive career, one is bound to make films that deal with similar topics. But when it comes to Almodóvar, his house style almost causes people to feel as if he’s “returning to the well” again and again. Such criticisms of his late-stage career are evident in the way his last few films have been received to particularly lukewarm praise. This film is a declaration that that couldn’t be further from the truth. Almodóvar isn’t “returning to the well,” he is instead grappling with the sheer expansiveness of human emotion. To pretend like lofty feelings such as grief, love, or hopelessness can be efficiently understood or excised immediately feels foolish. What Almodóvar has instead been creating with his filmography is a body of work which allows him to once again explore a similar set of emotions through an entirely new prism. Whether it be through the weariness of exploring our past with Pain and Glory or facing death head on with The Room Next Door, Almodóvar is continuing to reflect on how the most complex emotions affect individuals in a myriad of ways; and he does it all through his own complexly woven tales which make for wildly entertaining films.
There is no conceivable scenario in which Bitter Christmas should be seen as anything close to a minor film by Almodóvar. It is instead the work of a filmmaker who refuses to stoop below his own standards in the “twilight” of his career. It is a statement essentially delivered directly from Almodóvar through Raúl that he has no interest in making something lesser than, like a TV movie, simply for the sake of it. Bitter Christmas sees Almodóvar actively grappling with his life and his work through the prism of those around him. He may admit that he has gone a bit overboard as the years have progressed. After all, Almodóvar has always been a filmmaker who wears his heart on his sleeve and writes his characters to do the same. Yet he is somebody who very clearly feels a great deal of emotion, and may he continue to explore all the nooks and crannies of that great spectrum of feeling for many, many more films to come.
Bitter Christmas celebrated its U.S. Premiere in the Main Slate section at the 64th New York Film Festival.
