Emiliano looks at his life with the eyes of a film director, mixing the objective reality with the processes of the artistic creation. The story he is filming flounders with his daily life, until his world is trapped in the lens of his camera.
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A pleasant film to watch; it's got a lot going for it, but the middle part definitely drags it down. I feel Hernandez has prompted better reactions by doing the same thing in his other works, but here the interlude actually drags down the mood as a whole.
A pack of horrible, boring gay stereotypes go at it for two hours. The movie loses itself in the carnal images that emerge from the unconscious psyche, becoming too abstract about itself (in the interlude), and forgetting how to build and develop itself in the process. It winds up lacking dimension, and squandering an interesting premise and gimmick for a lesser version of a story common in gay literature.
As in previews Hernández's features, there's a carefully constructed aesthetic dragged down by false acting, minimal yet laughable dialogue, and artsy pretentiousness. At first glance it may appear as an interesting approach into self referential intimacy but it all ends up as self pitiful unbearableness.