What a heavy take on Lispector's great novel. Clarice wrote something so word-worthy it's almost impossible to bring to life. As a book, we are caught on 40 pages of character building to get to Macabéa story. The film loses it and take us on a romance about the last 40: and for that it's incomplete. By the way: this is the first time I see Fernanda Montenegro ruin a movie with an uninspiring construction.