Based on the eponymous novel by Ika Natassa, “about three men who deceived Ava’s (the main protagonist’s) past, present and future,” Anga Dwimas Sasongko’s melodrama is a type of Netflix content that draws a lot of viewers by its pathos and exaggerated emotions in service of a plot that successful soap operas have operated on since the invention of cinematic fast food: love, deception, new hope, and happy end. Its formula would work even better if this simple tale of one woman’s revenge with a droplet of blood and no body count were linear, and not chopped, steered, and served to the audience in an incomprehensible order.
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Set against the backdrop of the Indonesian entertainment industry, the film concentrates on the young movie star Ava Alessandra (Laura Basuki) whose childhood trauma still occasionally causes mental blockades that disturb her work. When she gets a serious lead role that will propel her career, the nature of the film’s story brings back extreme memories from the past. She gets immediate support from her acting partner Reza Malik (Reza Rahadian), who seems to have everything a woman would like to find in a man: patience, keen ear, charisma, and good looks. Ava seems to be living a dream.
First, there are rumors about Reza’s traditional involvement with actresses. Then, the jealousy strikes. Ava’s success and the stagnation of his career due to the lack of talent start to impact the couple’s relationship, which is becoming alarmingly toxic. Passive aggression dominates Ava’s domestic life.
Although the novel “Heartbreak Motel” contains enough material for a script that could have delivered a strong message about women’s empowerment, (the invisible) domestic violence, and the importance of demasking- and putting an end to it, the film fails to deliver due to the chaotic editing (Hendra Adhi Susanto), emphasis on the heart rendering scenes to the sound of an even more heart rendering score, and one-dimensionality of characters. For instance, Reza’s uttermost transformation from an empathetic, patient person to the prototype of a woman’s torturer isn’t convincing a bit. It would be naive to believe that it doesn’t play out like that in real life sometimes, but in this case, it is a matter of a directorial mistake. We simply do not feel the pulse of the film’s protagonists.
Likewise, the dialogues sound like they were written by force at the moment of the author’s inspirational low, and they qualify for the soppiest soaps known to the viewership.
Interestingly, the technical aspects are rather good. Adrianto Sinaga, the art director who has previously collaborated with Angga Dwimas Sasongko on “One Day We’ll Talk About Today” (2020) and its prequel “Today We’ll Talk About That Day” (2023), renders a chill elegance to the movie, and cinematographer Arnand Pratikto’s use of the over-the-shoulder shots to establish a sense of intimacy with the female lead in her moments of distress and inner struggles is impressive.
