A Widow's Game

A widows game is based on a true story though like some of these films certain aspects are changed to make it more appealing. We start with maje upset then we go back at certain points to see how we got here with police chief eva trying to work it out. Its clear though maje is up to something and never really cared for her husband salvo ever since they married. Its an interesting watch all the way through but unfortunatly we have been here before with films like this. Predictable is the word but I still liked to see how maniplitive maje was. Acting was good and overall its a decent true crime film.

I think only Netflix has the ability with all its money and all its excess to so many countries talents and this a true life story and COMPLETELY COCK IT UP 👏 10 STARS 🌟 FOR THIS It's all there in the case the twists turns phone calls and yet it misses by a week tbh honest the actors didn't do a bad job they are good enough but it's not enough to bring any tense atmosphere intrigues to light the back story's week there's nothing to get your teeth into just a little more though a better script and some umph yes umph it could have been great but alas it's another nextflix dud never really fires 🔥

They say that truth is stranger than fiction and I think that applies here because if I hadn't known it was a true story I'm not sure I would have believed in it.

The movie follows a police investigation into the murder of a young man in Valencia, Spain. A prime suspect is quickly identified, but the detectives need to surveil and wire tap for some months to gather enough evidence for a conviction, and also to find a suspected accomplice. The film dramatises both the suspects' and the police actions during this period.

This was a very clever script that quickly outlined the basic facts of the case, and then very slowly drew you right into this strange world. You see the story unfold through the eyes of the detectives and as it becomes more and more surprising so the characters become more and more interesting.

The acting was brilliant all round and the film was well paced and nicely photographed. I was riveted by the end and keen to find out more about the true story.

Portraying a true crime on screen is always a dangerous game: either you build an unsustainable-and perhaps insensitive-mystery, or you opt for a cold, factual retelling that too often feels predictable. A Widow's Game doesn't hide its cards: from the very first move, we know who died (the husband), who survived (the widow), and who most likely wielded the knife. The mystery, therefore, isn't the point. Instead, the film is a sequence of well-worn moves, leaving the viewer to decide whether they want to watch the pieces fall or simply confirm that, yes, everything collapsed exactly as expected.

And collapse it did. The protagonist, Maje-practically a black widow lifted from a rushed femme fatale handbook-parades through the story with subtle ambition and calculated hunger, manipulating men like someone changing outfits. The script occasionally seems interested in exploring her erotic, lethal edge, but it quickly retreats to the safety of factual reconstruction: she cheated, she seduced, she planned, she used. There's no room for deep psychological complexity here, just the linear trajectory of a woman who turned desire and survival into a sharpened weapon. Was there a lack of venom? Perhaps. A lack of the hesitation that humanizes-or corrupts-such characters? Undoubtedly.

The film's structure relies on that classic device of starting with the investigation-led by Eva, a detective as tough as she is sharp-only to shuffle between past and present, back and forth, adding no real layers, just reiterating what we already suspect. The narrative is preoccupied with dissecting who was manipulated, who hid what, who stumbled first. Salva, the manipulated man, is one of those who falls headfirst into the widow's web, convinced he can pull a few strings himself. In the end, of course, he's tangled, suffocated, and-ironically-still believing he can outmaneuver the woman who played him.

This double game-he thinks he's manipulating, but she's always two steps ahead-might be the film's only truly compelling dynamic. Not because it's novel, but because of the morbid pleasure in watching the ruin of a man deluded enough to think he could master someone who plays by her own rules. It's in this clash of wills, this push-and-pull of power, that the film briefly comes alive. And yet, when the house of cards finally collapses, the script seems more interested in documenting the fall than in hinting at its cracks. There's no perverse thrill, no mounting suspense-just the inevitable crash, filmed competently but without fire.

In the end, A Widow's Game is more report than reinvention, more chronicle than tragedy. It's efficient, even good-but it lacks the kind of risk that Maje herself embodies and that the film, ironically, refuses to take. What lingers is this feeling: the game was played, the house fell, the pieces scattered-but for the audience, the match ended long before checkmate.

Netflix's latest true crime production, The Black Widow, revisits the infamous and deeply unsettling "Patraix Crime" - and does so without moral anesthesia or a sentimental gloss. It makes no attempt to redeem, to console, or to wrap the horror in politically correct discourse. What it offers instead is the clinical dissection of a murder, premeditated in cold blood by two functional adults who, in 21st-century Spain, believed they could get away with it.

Unlike many productions in the genre that mask their voyeurism with a supposed aim of "honoring the victims," this film goes straight to the point. We do not see the body. We do not witness the crime. There is no exploitation of grief, no emotional pornography. The victim and his family are respected - truly respected - and the film gains rather than loses by this restraint. The lens turns instead to the perpetrators, exposing something more uncomfortable, more revealing, and more socially valuable: the internal architecture of those who cross the line.

Despite its evocative title, this is not a femme fatale fantasy. It is the real case of María Jesús Moreno Cantó - known as "Maje" - a nurse by profession, and Salvador Rodrigo Lapiedra, a hospital technician. Both were arrested on January 12, 2018. A seductive young woman manipulating an older, submissive man into becoming a weapon might sound like a cliché, but it is not. It is an archetype. And archetypes are not inventions of screenwriters - they are patterns of real life, repeated because they work, because they are encoded in our culture, our imagination, and, as Carl Jung would argue, in our collective unconscious.

The most disturbing part is not the crime itself, but its banality. Maje and Salva were convinced they could get away with it. They believed discretion, a sense of moral superiority, or the indifference of those around them would shield them. Pathological ego does not require psychotic delusions to act. It only needs self-indulgence, a functional environment that normalizes transgression, and a generous dose of fantasy. As behavioral neuroscience reminds us, the human brain can justify morally reprehensible actions as long as it sees itself as an exception - or rewrites the ethical script to accommodate its desires.

And this is where The Black Widow excels. There is no sensationalism here. There is anatomy. Not just of the crime, but of the decisions, the rationalizations, the self-deception, and the twisted bond between two people who were not victims of each other, but co-conspirators feeding off their shared delusion.

Ivana Baquero and Tristán Ulloa deliver outstanding performances. She is cold, but never cartoonish. He is pathetic, but recognizably human. The script avoids the easy trap of portraying the killers as inhuman monsters; instead, it shows them for what they are: people. And that is far more terrifying. Because if they are people, then anyone - under the right (or wrong) conditions - could potentially become something similar. That is the truly frightening truth.

For me, the crown jewel is Carmen Machi. In a role stripped of her usual comedic register, she plays the investigator who faces life's harshness head-on and trusts her instincts. Though the character is fictionalized, it stands as a worthy tribute to the real-life police work behind the case - to the kind of investigator who, without epic speeches or spotlight, bears the emotional weight of brutal cases, tracking evidence and confronting institutional fatigue. Machi's performance doesn't rely on grand monologues; it lives in hardened gestures, emotional restraint, and her embodiment of a type of woman fiction often forgets: the resilient professional who carries on simply because she must.

The film's aesthetic choices are also commendable. Carlos Sedes's direction avoids visual sensationalism. There is a clinical cleanliness to the world depicted - hospital corridors, anonymous stairwells, police offices. Everything evokes the banality of evil, to borrow Hannah Arendt's phrase: monstrosity doesn't dwell in gothic castles or dark rituals; it lives in your building's hallway, in the hospital kitchen chat, in a WhatsApp message.

And yes, this too is science. Forensic psychology studies show that the most dangerous criminals are not the cinematic psychopaths, but the functional individuals who integrate their perversion into everyday structures. They are the ones who "don't seem capable of that." The human brain doesn't register danger in those who behave normally - and that is why certain signals go unnoticed: because they do not break the pattern.

Bambú Producciones approaches this story with meticulous care. Eschewing the trap of gory reenactments, they maintain narrative tension by focusing on psychology. Instead of simply recounting what happened, they explore how it could happen, and why the perpetrators convinced themselves that their actions weren't criminal, but justified. This is more than storytelling: it's emotional pedagogy. It teaches how moral self-deception works, and how intimacy can become a stage for domination.

In short, The Black Widow is a resounding success. Not only for its acting and technical quality, but for its ethical stance: it neither glorifies nor trivializes its subjects. It reveals the horror of the ordinary - how easy it is to cross the line when one believes the world owes them something. A work not only to be seen, but to be felt - in the skin, the gut, and, if watched with eyes wide open, in the conscience.