Pedro Almodóvar turns a glaring view on himself and the creative process in his newest film Amarga Navidad (Bitter Christmas, or rather more bluntly, Autofiction in French), a tense if at times amusing reflection on the blurred line between reality and fiction. Stylish in typical Almodóvar fashion and deeply cutting for both director and creatives alike, it’s a solid take on the concept of “vampirising” the lives of those close to us – yet for a film that should be the amalgamation of years of experience, it lacks a little intensity to make a real impact.
Bárbara Lennie stars as Elsa, a commercial director immersed in work and still grieving her mother, who passed away a year ago. After a debilitating migraine lands her in the emergency room, she is forced to take a break, one which inspires her to turn back to scriptwriting. On a trip to Lanzarote, she is in the process confronted to her relationships, with partner Bonifacio (Patrick Criado), and friends Patricia (Victoria Luengo) and Natalia (Milena Smit). In 2025 meanwhile, celebrated filmmaker Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia) is also writing – Elsa’s story, inspired by his relationship with partner Santi (Quim Gutiérrez) and his assistant Mónica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón).
As a-filmmaker-within-a-filmmaker-within-a-filmmaker scenario, Amarga Navidad is at times a little complex to follow in its narration back-and-forth, sometimes even to its advantage, as there are certain instances that feel more like a twist than they do a foregone conclusion. Almodóvar bravely lays himself – all creatives, in fact – bare, forcing both of his foil characters into positions of vulnerability and judgement. This is, of course, because both of them write of those around them, of the failing relationships and the traumatic experiences of death, much to the alienation and anger of those who must suffer it in reality. He is braver still to have them justify it, to refuse to alter the story, even if it costs them a friend – interviews with the director have shown that he is of the same opinion, once again a testimony to the Pedro-as- Raúl-as-Elsa dynamic. There are some outstanding questions that could have benefited from a little more development – why Raúl chooses a woman as an alter ego for instance, and why La Llorona by Chavela Vargas plays such an important role in character development. At times, it feels a little lacklustre, redundant in its portrayal of the creative process, and there are some long sequences of relative quiet. But by and large, there is a lot to like here – the opening scene, in which Elsa suffers a panic attack, is a deeply atmospheric and uncomfortable one, in which music, rain and an intense feeling of dread coalesce into something truly memorable. Criado meanwhile offers up a touch of good humour and comedic timing as the ever caring Bonifacio, and an even more memorable strip tease sequence to Grace Jones – he slips off in the second half of the film to much disappointment, but Mónica is quick to point this out to Raúl after reading a first draft. Whatever it is, then, Amarga Navidad is also rather clever in its narrative complexity – with this, Almodóvar will only ever be partially responsible.
