Anyone writing a character is likely inspired, at least in part, by some experience they’ve been through or heard about, and very possibly by themselves more than anything. But the line between autobiography and fiction can be blurred, which is only problematic if it’s meant to be sold as one or the other, and if there’s a person whose life details have been used without their consent. Bitter Christmas tells two parallel stories that slowly reveal what one takes from the other, dissecting the creative process and how the way in which people perceive those around them shapes their view of themselves.
Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia) is writing his latest script, the first time he’s had to work on something without the loyal Mónica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón) by his side to advise him and a perfectly suitable, if less seasoned, replacement, Santi (Quim Gutiérrez), in her place. In his script, Elsa (Bárbara Lennie) is also a filmmaker, though she’s made only two films that she explains to the doctor she’s seeing about her migraines and panic attacks are considered cult since, in her own words, very few people liked them. Elsa, who now works in advertising, is inspired to try writing again as she navigates a relationship with Bonifacio (Patrick Criado) and complicated friendships with Patricia (Victoria Luengo) and Natalia (Milena Smit) that come with considerable baggage.
This is far from the first time Pedro Almodóvar has screened a film at the Toronto International Film Festival. His most recent outings in Toronto have been The Room Next Door and Pain and Glory, and his Canadian-premiering credits include two underrated gems from his catalog, Julieta and Broken Embraces. For his latest film, he’s once again found terrific talent, particularly in his female cast. He’s an expert writer who knows how to weave an engaging tale that straddles genres, inviting an appropriate amount of melodrama to color a story that engages with long-repressed trauma and unspoken tension as it bubbles to the surface at the worst possible moments.
There’s no denying Almodóvar’s skill and the strength of his cast. Even if this isn’t his most resounding or consequential work, it still manages to be riveting in the moment as seemingly normal, banal conversations subtly turn into more incisive critiques that make these characters, particularly the ones telling others’ stories, consider if they’ve become unreliable narrators. Elsa is much less self-assured than Raúl, but also conducts herself in a more subdued way, rarely touting her own work and instead listening to what those around her are saying to piece together her own version of events to become the basis for what she writes.
One of the standouts of the cast is Criado, whose Bonifacio, known by his nickname, Beau, may be the film’s most interesting character. He’s introduced as a devoted, loyal partner for Elsa who is recognized by her doctor, not because he’s a firefighter but because he moonlights as a stripper on weekends. There’s such a gentleness to him that contrasts sharply with his good looks and the way he moves his body which makes him feel like a new kind of male figure for Almodóvar that helps to broaden his already expansive array of personality types he’s able to richly write.
This film doesn’t feature any long-buried mysteries or murders, which for Almodóvar might make it considered tame. But he applies the same commitment to crafting rich, fully-developed characters, regardless of the size of the role. His pre-recorded introduction to the film expresses the passion he feels for storytelling and the joy he gets from exploring ideas that audiences can appreciate. It may not be his most emphatic or memorable work, but there’s still something about any Almodóvar feature that shows an incredible devotion to the art of cinema.
Movie Rating: 7/10
Bitter Christmas makes its North American premiere in the Special Presentations section at the 2026 Toronto International Film Festival.
