Review of Biutiful (2010) by Ricardo C — 10 Jun 2012

Iñárritu has a fixation on transferring the impoverished, third-world bleakness he's experienced that so permeates and propels his motivation for filming to viewers, most of which I take are oblivious to the feeling and existence.

And it's a talent to be able to communicate it well in the first place, I suppose. Just don't take it as a given that it makes his films cinematic, or to put it bluntly, enjoyable. It's quite the anti-cinema antithesis, in fact, since cinema is mostly made to counter hopeless, dismaying realities with escapism.

Not to say that Biutiful doesn't have its share of respectable qualities, such as presenting its story honestly and free of bullshit (That at the same time faults it), something many dramas follow through until the last minute.

Furthermore, accurately illustrating the process of cause and effect in risks, the universal multitasking complex humans adapt to, and lastly including the abilities of Bardem in playing complicated, multidimensional roles.

Yet in the face of an overlong, slowburning, sluggish script, there's the twin inclination to opt out because of lacking a spark and wanting to disassociate yourself from the grim atmosphere. Surprisingly, the one aspect one expects the film to instantly crumble from (The mystical humbled clairvoyance) because the film strongly rests on its callous reality actually temporarily salvages it under the guise of magical realism, an indication of the film easily bettering were there more surrealist injections.

But see, a revision like that, and the purpose is defeated, further attesting to its misplacement in film. It just wasn't going to work, even with a different director, methinks. And I don't really know what the desire to link Mexico and Spain ethnically and culturally is all about.

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