La vedova nera

I am Spaniard so I have watched this one without subtitles, what is a plus.

So, If you love Spanish series like "El cuerpo en llamas", A window's game is for you. The movie is amazingly real as cruel the case it is.

First, the case is sad and at the same time makes you think about how cruel a woman can be.

Second, cast is superb. Great acting from Tristan Ulloa and Carmen Machi. Ivana Baquero is great too.

Last, the settings and production are superb. Pretty close to reality. Around 95% of the movie happened. Also the scenarios are real too.

So, overall an ugly crime, but a great movie. I mean, if you love true crime, this one is for you.

Netflix offers us a surprising offering, based on true events that shook Spain and Europe in 2017, based on Patraix's Black Widow. Directed by Carlos Sedes and starring Ivana Baquero, Carmen Machi, and Tristán Ulloa.

The film offers a powerful true crime thriller that captivates you as we learn about the brutality of the events and the underlying story of its two main perpetrators. The film is further enhanced by the excellent script and the decision to tell us from the perspective of its three protagonists, concluding with the unfolding of the events that saddened all of Spain in 2017.

Carlos Sedes's direction offers no grand extravaganzas, but it does employ an absolute seriousness when confronting the stories and the rawness of his characters. The director's work, rendered with a documentary essence, helps us truly capture the crime in its entirety, and we want to confront the events with complete unease and uncertainty. His leading trio plays an essential role in making everything work smoothly. Machi, Baquero, and Ulloa give their all to their characters, which means we see the true protagonists of reality in the skin of their cast.

Its two-hour running time, which may seem a bit long, really flies by once we're completely hooked on the events and the way it tells us everything behind the horrendous crime. The use of sound and narration are fundamental pillars that make Netflix's offering a pleasant and well-chosen pastime. The streaming platform surprises with a very interesting film that manages to pique our interest thanks to all its virtues and a story that is effective in every aspect, and whose director knows how to handle everything with the necessary caution, so that the necessary fiction never interferes with the reality of a brutal crime.

One of Netflix's pleasant surprises this 2025.

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.

"A Widow's Game" was a compelling watch. As a true-crime enthusiast, I appreciated its deep dive into a real Spanish murder case I knew nothing about.

The actress playing María (Ivana Baquero) delivered a strong performance, skillfully portraying a manipulative character who exploited men's weaknesses in relationships. The film's overall story about manipulation in love was well-told.

My main critique is the lack of chronological clarity at times, which made following the sequence of events a bit challenging. Also, I would have liked to see real footage or photos of the protagonists at the end, which often enhances true-crime adaptations.

Despite these minor points, it's a worthwhile and thought-provoking film, recommended for fans of true crime and psychological thrillers.

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.