Based off of a killer track record from acclaimed director Alfonso Cuarón—and considering I will and always be a die-hard Children of Men (and maybe even a tad slice of Prisoner of Azkaban) fanboy—you could suspect that I had feverishly awaited this new period-piece alluded to us as, Roma.
First and foremost, let me get off of my chest what E-V-E-R-Y user on Letterboxd has been saying about Roma: “It’s a technical masterpiece.” This movie detects like it’s one cohesive flow of topography wrapped up in a handsomely pragmatic package. And that sound design obliterates so hard that it—more or less—KO’d me out of my seat a number of times. Not because I had my volume up at 100, but because it was just that psychedelic. My neighbors are filing complaints as I write this. Worth it.
The first two acts of this film predominantly attributes bonafide power-cohesive storytelling which (to be honest) is although not supremely bloggable nor lucid, eventually makes up its justification when the film, in the fullness of time, offers a finale of such watertight evolution that it sanctions you into an emotional pit of such almighty, heartfelt corollary.
Roma is an imperative telling of how behind the depravity of madness is always sparks of grace, and sometimes you’ll—like humans stubbornly do—power through those sentences of unadulterated hell just to score those few moments of beauty because beauty, well, is just too dang worth it. Even a tough life is sometimes worth flourishing, you know? To all the hardworking, invincible, single-parents out there, this film is dedicated to you. I condemn you with such utter and unfiltered reverence. Salut. (Verdict: A-)
I think Cuarón’s official trademark is situating pregnant women into tough scenarios—especially when they’re on the verge of delivery.
#### people like Fermin and Sir. Antonio. Seriously, #### them.
Never has someone attempting to park their car in a garage been so intensely engrossing/informal.
This Movie is a Part of My List: The Best Films of 2018