



I wanted to be fully possessed by Arrebato. The pitch is killer: cinema as a drug, and the camera as something that doesn’t just record you, but slowly takes you. Once José opens Pedro’s package — key, cassette, Super-8 — it plays like a relapse with a supernatural aftertaste. “Just one more reel” becomes a real danger.
When it clicks, it’s genuinely unnerving. The Super-8 footage has that grubby, tactile pull, and the red-frame rushes feel like the screen blinking back. The central idea is nasty and brilliant: the image doesn’t capture life, it edges it out.
It does drift. There’s a lot of time spent in flats, conversations looping, and a repetition that sometimes feels less hypnotic than stubborn. Still: the mood is sticky, the concept is singular, and the best stretches linger — even if the film takes the long way round.