Expressive black and white that echoes like a memory fragment, the glittering white puddles ensnaring the sun and releasing the beams across shadowed landscapes. This is certainly a gorgeous film, one clearly developed with absolute heart, but I felt entirely empty watching it.

Cuarón's camera moves so passively—likely a political point—that nothing ever feels truly observed. Yes, I'm sure the distance with which the camera observes is an illustration of movement constricted by oppressive class system(s), but with every sequence following the same visual pattern, nothing new is articulated by the end that isn't expressed immediately.

This visual repetition left me emotionally isolated rather than an intimate observer. Moments so clearly designed to evoke tear floods (something I have no issue with inherently) play like any other sequence. Every idea and major feeling is expressed so tangentially that nothing ever culminates.

Wish I liked it more.