Movie 53: The Milk of Sorrow

IMDB synopsis before I tear in to this:

Fausta is suffering from a rare disease called the Milk of Sorrow, which is transmitted through the breast milk of pregnant women who were abused or raped during or soon after pregnancy. While living in constant fear and confusion due to this disease, she must face the sudden death of her mother. She chooses to take drastic measures to not follow in her mother's footsteps.

No she isn’t and no she doesn’t. If that’s what the film was about it may have actually been good instead of making me want to stop watching ever 2 minutes but forcing myself to continue because I have to blog about it.

For a start, there’s no such thing as the Milk of Sorrow. Fausta is in fact a massively emotionally disturbed girl because of the way she was raised. She terrified of being raped, to the extent that she has (I shit you not) a potato in her vagina. An actual potato. I though the subtitles were broken but they weren’t as is made blatantly clear throughout the movie. She has to walk close to walls so that lost souls won’t get her, so she’s agoraphobic, and she’s scared of men.

Also following the sudden death of her mother she keeps the corpse around for a month as she can’t afford to take her back to their village for a funeral. A corpse that she seems to sleep with and sing to. This is your main character.

An hour and a half with a massively disturbed woman with a tattie in her cooch. It’s as fun as it sounds. She weird and stilted in her movements, and sings a fair bit in a semi in tune manner.

This wouldn’t be so bad if there were good side characters, but there aren’t. The gardener seems like a nice guy, but besides him everyone else seems relatively fucked up. If this is a good representation of Peru I can see why Paddington Bear left.

There seems to be some kind of milkshake that people drink when they watch a lot of movies which makes foreign or black and white films somehow superior to everything else. Add to that films made for a tenner with an indie label. Well I don’t drink your milkshake. I don’t drink it RIGHT UP. (that’s why I said milkshake, just so I could use that line. I am a hack, yes.)

Load of old potato filled toot.

Next up: Harry Potter And The Half Blood Prince