Roma

life, and sociopolitical undercurrents in 1970s Mexico City. Yalitza Aparicio’s debut performance is understated yet emotionally absorbing—she embodies stillness with a sense of deep emotional gravity. Shot in lush black-and-white with meticulous cinematography, the film drifts between poetic vignettes and visceral moments (especially the Corpus Christi massacre scene) that jar the viewer out of nostalgia and into raw truth. It’s clear Cuarón poured his soul into the details: the sound design, ambient city noise, and symmetry in camera movement feel immersive, almost meditative. While Roma is technically brilliant, its deliberate pacing and observational style create emotional distance. There are stretches where the narrative feels passive—like we're watching life unfold without always being pulled into it. It's less about story and more about feeling, which may not resonate equally with everyone. Roma isn’t a crowd-pleaser—If you’re drawn to cinema that whispers rather than shouts, it rewards attention with haunting beauty. But if you prefer tight plotting or high drama, Roma may feel like a slow stroll through someone else's memories.