It’s hard to interpret what Benjamin Millepied’s Carmen movie wants to be because the film juggles far too many complex themes at the same time. It’s a visual feast for the eyes, with cinematographer Jörg Widmer’s exquisite shots and Millepied’s directorial choices, but the script needed more tidying to tell a stronger story. Nonetheless, the heavier, more evocative emotions come to life with astounding ease through the performances, making the film worth its salt more times than not. Melissa Barrera dazzles as brilliantly as she does in Jon M. Chu’s In the Heights, and her chemistry with Paul Mescal delivers a deeply memorable romance.
The film is a quietly poignant craft that relies on its stars to do the heavy lifting, and to a degree, it works. It’s etched with tragedy looming in every corner from the moment it begins, with the feelings of dread and loss never leaving the audience. It’s not a romance, not in our definition, at least, but it’s a love story that comes to life sensationally through song and dance in breathtaking ways. Mescal and Barrera are tremendous scene partners, moving seamlessly together even while their characters are hesitant and afraid. It features one of the most breathtaking first kisses I’ve seen on the silver screen, brimming with longing and passion in a way that’s thoroughly evocative because of the chemistry the two establish in silence.
Carmen asks its audience to know more than they do ultimately—the general audience especially, and the ones who might not even know that the story is based on an opera will watch the credits roll through confused gazes. While it shows plenty and allows the stars to guide the audience through the passage of time in Spanish and English, there’s much left in the clouds of dust moving along the deserts. And while the ambiguity works in some situations, we lose pieces of an essential narrative. In a film that is so visually stunning, it’s unfortunate the screenplay doesn’t keep up.
Still, Carmen is a film worth seeing as one of the most beautiful spectacles of the year. Between the music by Nicholas Britell and Millepied’s choreography, Barrera and the rest of the cast consistently bring something spellbinding to each performance. In more ways than one, the film pushes traditional boundaries, proving that it can be done—it asks us to pay attention to the movements we might not otherwise notice, and it forces us to keep our eyes glued to the screen in fear that we could miss something. It’s a masterclass where all this is concerned—the performances, especially with each shot full of craftsmanship worthy of analysis.
It’s the pacing that fumbles even when the transitions feel seamless. Millepied and Widmer take us from one scene to another with tremendous ease despite the detail that we’re left questioning how we got there. In the absence of much necessary dialogue that could have filled the spaces where action stops short, Carmen could be confusing at times. Yet, it’s a compelling story with a clear message that those of us who come from immigrant families might relate to better. It’s a story about how one woman’s sacrifice is another’s freedom, and it’s a story about the people who look out for those running from something. It’s about the chances we take and the choices we make when presented with challenges that don’t align with our morals. And it’s about the kind of love that pushes beyond expectations and ensures growth for both parties.
Carmen is the titular character’s journey through grief and heartache while she searches for a place to belong. It takes her through treacherous paths and winding shadows to take from her again, which is just too melodramatic at the end of the day. If this film led to a happy ending—a place where second chances are possible through companionships that are tethered by trust, then perhaps we could have a different conversation. It’s too sad even when it’s hopeful, and in any other film, maybe that would’ve been okay, but it’s hard not to wish for a happy ending with the losses that are present in this film.
Carmen is now available for rent or purchase.