While I was sitting there watching Alejandro González Iñárritu's fourth film, the strangely titled Biutiful (the title comes from a misspelling by the protag's nine year old daughter), I couldn't help thinking how much I loved his first film (released more than a decade ago now) Amores perros, and how much this film is not that film. Visually as audacious as always but now seemingly bloated from some sort of apparent self-righteous pretension (closer to his turgid Oscar-bait Babel than to his first two films, the aforementioned and 21 Grams). Still a well-acted thing, so we have that. Anyway, before I go and ruin my own review, I will shut up and allow you to go over to my review site (aka, The Cinematheque - but you already knew that) and read it for yourself.
Read my review of Biutiful at The Cinematheque.
Instead of going with my normal shot from the film in question, here is a shot of the director doing an impersonation of how his film is supposed to make you feel - for better or for worse.
Instead of going with my normal shot from the film in question, here is a shot of the director doing an impersonation of how his film is supposed to make you feel - for better or for worse.
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