Last night I finally sat down and watched Alejandro González Iñárritu’s fourth film, Biutiful, something I’ve been meaning to do for quite some time. I don’t want to refer to this as a review, because I feel that at the very least reviews should happen within the first year of a film’s release. However, I found the film both intriguing and moving, and worthy of discussion here. Disclaimer: Spoilers abound; please read at your own risk if you haven’t seen the movie yet but intend to. 

I am a big fan of Iñárritu’s body of work, regardless of the fact that all of his films are heart-wrenching. I saw 21 Grams first, a film that jumps around in time with less cohesion than a Tarantino flick, and was drawn to the layered character development. I saw Babel not long after that, and was fully engrossed with the four loosely connected stories that don’t exactly fit together like puzzle pieces as the film draws to its conclusion. It was then that I went back and watched his first film, Amores Perros, which actually turned out to be my favorite of the three. Here, mere survival becomes so complexly intertwined with the characters’ desires for redemption and absolution that it becomes difficult for the viewer to separate the good from the bad. And I think that’s they way the director wants it. It’s certainly a prevalent theme in Biutiful.

Javier Bardem’s performance as Uxbal is acute. Despite a diagnosis of terminal prostate cancer, his character never gives in to high emotion except in extreme circumstances when it is appropriately warranted. Nor does he display a proclivity towards violence, even in situations where the viewer would expect him to lose it. He’s patient with his bi-polar addict wife, who he desperately wants to believe can change for the better by the time he is gone. He has almost no options when it comes to passing on guardianship of his son and daughter, and he holds on to hope that his wife is up to the task. Both Uxbal and the viewer are bitterly disappointed when it turns out that this is not the case. Uxbal is also conflicted in prioritizing how he must spend his final days. At the behest of his shaman mentor, Bea, he strives to get his affairs in order before his passing, but he spreads himself too thin in his attempts to help the troubled African and Chinese immigrants he works alongside when he should be preparing for his children’s immediate future. This comes back to haunt him by the end of the film when his prospective matriarchal candidate, Ige, runs back to Senegal with her infant son and the financial provisions for his children that he entrusted her with. His error is not born out of foolishness, but rather desperation.

There is an air of mysticism in Biutiful that is absent in Iñárritu’s previous three films, but the director pulls if off somewhat convincingly. Uxbal is able to communicate with the souls of the recently deceased, souls that haven’t yet moved on. This element of the ethereal may initially distract the viewer from the plot, as we first see when Uxbal moves in front of a mirror and his reflection doesn’t parallel the movement. He uses his gift to relay messages from the dead to their families, which is viewed as a legitimate service by some, a two-bit scam by others. What’s important is that this ability adds depth to the conflicted nature of Uxbal’s character. Bea chastises him for cashing in on his gift, but he feels he has little choice; his children must be provided for when he is gone. His ability to speak to the dead becomes haunting in the second half of the film, when the Chinese immigrants he is trying to help are all asphyxiated to death by the shoddily constructed space heaters he purchased for them. He’s haunted by these phantoms, and this is compounded by his guilt, for he acknowledges that he was trying to save a few bucks by purchasing the space heaters from the very black market that he deals in. Toward the end of the film, just before Uxbal’s passing, he sees one last soul clinging to the ceiling of his apartment. For me this scene was every bit as chilling as any taken from The Shining or Jacob’s Ladder. Fortunately, this scene segues to a very poignant final scene with Uxbal’s daughter, Ana, a scene that the viewer gets a glimpse of at the beginning of the film, where it is unclear who Uxbal is talking to. The scene that follows, where Uxbal transitions into death within his mind, brings closure to the film. Uxbal is speaking with his grown up son, Mateo, and this gives the viewer just the briefest glimmer of hope that everything is going to be alright for his son and daughter. But true to form in one of Iñárritu’s movies, that’s all it is: hope. This is a scene in Uxbal’s dying imagination, and the viewer, now understanding the bleak circumstances Ana and Mateo have been left under, has only hope to cling to.

Life in Biutiful, like Iñárritu’s other films, is simply that: life. It’s difficult. It’s lonely. It’s ugly. And it’s full of fleeting moments of joy and grace. Like in Amores Perros, the director takes us to places we don’t want to go and introduces us to people we don’t want to meet. The seedy underground of Barcelona is dark and often devoid of compassion, full of people who will only do the right thing as long as it’s not at the expense of their self-interest, and this is where Uxbal stands apart. Unlike Walter White, whose diagnosis of terminal cancer leads him down a road of damnation in his endeavor to provide for his family, Uxbal–in his own way–is seeking atonement. Whether his efforts are successful is at the discretion of the viewer, and it’s arguable whether Uxbal even tries hard enough to get his affairs in order in his final days. But regardless of the mistakes he makes in life, the viewer will have no choice but to sympathize with Uxbal by the end of the film. Love–love of one’s family–is the ultimate driving force behind Biutiful.