Vi “Tres metros sobre el cielo,”

una película española that may be likened to some sappy young adult movie. Or is some sappy young adult movie. Even without understanding a lot of Spanish, I was able to follow the plot. I think most people would be able to.

At first, I hated the male protagonist, H (pronounced “hache,” of course; how can una letra require so much breath?), with his one expression (una expresión — I tended to think with my limited Spanish while watching so I think I’ll do more of this, watching Spanish-language films and pretending I can converse en español) and hot topless shots. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate un gran cuerpo masculino, but I feel that it’s an out-of-place exploitation that’s reminiscent of mediocre Hollywood and Filipino movies, inserting a scene for the scene’s sake, not the movie’s. Then, they fall in love and, despite my initial misgivings, I did understand why H must be attractive to the female protagonist — hot, dangerous, sensitive, fun, and did I mention hot? No, no, delicioso. Yum.

Well, they are en la playa.

The rest of the way was a predictable mix of the ups and downs of young love that made me want a hot, precarious, sweep-me-off-my-feet romance of my own. He loves me, he loves me not, él me ama, él no me ama. Because of this seeming predictability, the way the film ends caught me off guard. I’m writing this entry, thinking of esta película longer than I’ve done most of my life’s events, so it must be a good thing. I don’t like predictable, pero me gusta esta película y necesito amar.



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