女人面下毛那里

Bardem gives a monosyllabic performance of few words and much overwrought hysteria. A great chunk of the running time is devoted to dysfunctional suffering and passive facial grimaces. After an hour of this tedium, you stop worrying about where this disaster is going, or if it’s going anywhere at all. In the end credits, 28 producers are listed for an 85-minute film that doesn’t appear to have even had one.