Sex and Lucía Movie Review
For Lucía y el sexo -- cleverly twisted around for English-speaking audiences as Sex and Lucía, to put the emphasis on the film's substantial eroticism -- the alternate universe reference is more appropriate than you might think. The story (obviously) centers around Lucía (Paz Vega), a listless waitress who falls in love with a novelist named Lorenzo (Tristán Ulloa), based on the power of his works. She propositions him, soon they're living together and engaging in lots of the titular activity, but then Lorenzo disappears. A cop calls, and Lucía fears Lorenzo is dead.
Lorenzo, it turns out, has a bit of a sordid past. Years earlier, he fathered a child during a vacation tryst with a nameless girl on the beach. But they have tracked each other down -- sort of -- and rekindled that romance, all while he's living with Lucía and sinking into depression, presumably over what he should do with his life.
Lorenzo's sudden sprouting of a conscience is the least baffling part of the film -- writer/director Julio Medem has crafted the most confusing movie I've seen since Mulholland Drive. Medem jumps forward and backward in time with every scene, gives two roles to one actor -- and many of his other characters look frustratingly similar, or else they radically change their looks over the several years' time that pass in the film. Of course, the subtitles will only confuse American audiences all the further.
The sex part of the story is designed to distract you from all of this, and sure enough Medem has crafted one of the most overheated films since, well, since Y Tu Mamá También. Vega is often naked. Ulloa is sometimes naked, too. And we're talking all naked. With touching, people. Lots of touching.
In the end, sex ironically has little to do with the story, which becomes something about how lame it is to try and evade your responsibilities and that you should never, ever, leave a large dog alone with a toddler. But never mind all that; the boobs are fantastic.