Pedro Almodóvar’s Lacerating Self-Portrait Is a Difficult Watch

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Pedro Almodóvar’s new film, Bitter Christmas, doesn’t really come together until the very end, making it a challenging watch and difficult to discuss. While the meandering first three-quarters seem deliberate, it becomes hard to tell whether the film’s lack of focus is intentional or simply disorganized. The powerful conclusion almost justifies the slow build-up, but only if you’re already a fan of Almodóvar and interested in what seems to be a personal, and somewhat critical, reflection on his own creative process.

The film Bitter Christmas opens in 2004, introducing Elsa (Bárbara Lennie), an advertising director who previously directed two films that gained a dedicated, though small, following. She lives in a beautiful, brightly decorated Madrid apartment with her caring boyfriend, Bonifacio (Patrick Criado). Though successful, Elsa suffers from increasingly severe migraines, leading to a recent emergency room visit – at a hospital she once used for a film shoot. The story quickly reveals that Elsa’s life feels intentionally disjointed, as if she’s inhabiting someone else’s experience. This is because she’s a fictionalized version of a character being written by Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia), a filmmaker in 2026 who is crafting the story of Elsa and Bonifacio as his new screenplay.

Raúl, a celebrated figure unlike Elsa, gets annoyed when his assistant, Mónica, reminds him he’s receiving an LGBTQ+ award, pointing out he hasn’t created anything new lately. Despite their differences, Raúl and Elsa share common ground: Elsa is now experiencing panic attacks, something Raúl has dealt with for years. Both met their partners through unusual circumstances – Elsa and Bonifacio through Bonifacio’s work as a dancer, and Raúl and Santi the same way. Santi doesn’t mind being used as inspiration for Raúl’s work, and isn’t even surprised when Raúl clarifies that Bonifacio isn’t him, but a fictional character based on him. However, Raúl blurs the line between reality and fiction. When Mónica announces she’s leaving after 20 years to help a friend whose son has cancer, the script suddenly includes an old friend of Elsa’s whose son has died. Raúl initially writes the friend’s name as “Elena,” but quickly changes it to “Natalia.”

Despite sometimes feeling like you’re watching a story struggle to find its direction, Bitter Christmas still offers plenty to enjoy. The film is visually stunning, with beautiful clothes, interiors, and locations – particularly Elsa’s trip to Lanzarote, where she stays in a gorgeous villa near black-sand beaches. The first meeting between Elsa and Bonifacio is charmingly romantic, presented like a playful striptease during an underwear commercial shoot amidst a lively bachelorette party. A scene where a distressed Elsa seeks relief at a house party (hosted by frequent Almodóvar collaborator Rossy de Palma) is both humorous and comforting, as she finds solace amongst the coats and a friend serenades her. And a powerful moment sees Elsa’s friend Patricia (Victoria Luengo) decide to leave her husband, deeply moved by Chavela Vargas’ performance of “La Llorona,” showcasing the emotional impact of music.

The central question of Bitter Christmas isn’t whether director Raúl (and, by extension, Almodóvar himself) has lost his creative spark. It’s whether he still has new things to say, or if he’s simply revisiting familiar themes. Raúl often claims his work is ‘autofiction’ – a blend of autobiography and fiction – to deflect criticism for drawing on the lives of people he knows, suggesting it happens unintentionally. However, the film suggests a more troubling idea: Raúl’s identity is so tied to filmmaking that he’s willing to damage his relationships to continue working. Bitter Christmas blurs the line between artistic inspiration and exploitation, ultimately portraying the artist as someone who can’t resist using the lives around them for their work. This is a harsh self-evaluation, but it’s also refreshingly honest and suggests Almodóvar still has a lot to offer, even if it’s through critical self-reflection.

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2026-05-20 19:54