Sex and Lucia, or, Just Admit You Watch Porn

Last night I watched a Spanish film entitled Sex and Lucia. This one came out of my Netflix queue, which is nearly 500 titles long, so oftentimes I receive DVD’s that have been in the list for so long I no longer remember why I ordered them in the first place. Such is the case with this film.

Now, Sex and Lucia belongs firmly in the category of Sexy Art Film. You know the kind: made with meaningless or obscure plots and one-dimensional characters that find themselves walking on beaches or near cliffs, gazing significantly out to the horizon. Coupled with numerous scenes of incredibly hot sex. The best I could make of S & L was that there was an author with a hidden past concerning a daughter he’d disowned, and who was now destroying his ability to stay sane due to his writing a fictional account of how that happened.

Problem is: you could give a rat’s ass about his dilemma. His girlfriend, a former fan, now spends her time screaming at how he’s losing it and not doing her anymore. What’s Spanish for yawn?

The thing about this movie is they reel you in with the steamy bits, and then let the rest of the film just meander along, things get a little nonlinear plot-wise, and it becomes as interesting as say, finishing a box of Saltines. If watching Latina hotties seduce perpetually scruffy Spanish authors is your deal, great. The action in this movie is undeniably erotic, so enjoy that for what it is. But just admit you like porn and get on with it. As far as a real movie goes, forget it.