Nacho Vigalondo, the acclaimed director behind the unique and genre-bending film “Colossal,” returns to the cinematic spotlight after an eight-year hiatus with “Daniela Forever.” However, rather than a triumphant comeback, this sci-fi drama emerges as a frustrating and incoherent venture that squanders its high-concept premise. Blending influences from genre-defining films such as “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and “Inception,” “Daniela Forever” presents itself as an emotional mindbender. Yet it stumbles under the weight of its own ambitions, never fully realizing its ideas or articulating its message. Instead of offering profound insight into themes like grief, memory, and emotional closure, the film becomes an exercise in narrative convolution and unfulfilled promise.
The central character, Nicolas, portrayed by Henry Golding, is introduced as a grieving DJ grappling with the sudden loss of his beloved, Daniela, played by Beatrice Grannò. The emotional turmoil that envelops Nicolas leads him to participate in an experimental program designed to help individuals reconnect with deceased loved ones through lucid dreaming. On paper, it’s a fascinating premise—what if you could return to a favorite moment, have another conversation, or simply be near someone you lost? The concept has rich potential, particularly in examining how people process grief and the ethical complexities of manipulating memory and emotion.
Unfortunately, Vigalondo’s execution doesn’t match the allure of the concept. The film quickly becomes mired in its protagonist’s sorrow, unable or unwilling to move beyond a superficial exploration of grief. Instead of diving into the psychological and philosophical implications of this dream technology, the film circles endlessly around Nicolas’ inner torment, offering minimal progression or thematic depth. It makes the viewer feel like they’re trapped in a repetitive loop—a fitting but tiresome metaphor for grief, perhaps, but not one that sustains a feature-length narrative.
One of the more intriguing rules of the film’s dream logic is that Nicolas can only recreate locations and scenarios he actually remembers. This element introduces a poignant reflection on the limitations of memory, suggesting that we are confined not just by what we lost, but by what we can remember about what we lost. It also creates visually arresting sequences where entire streets vanish into gray voids, representing the absence of mental imagery. This is grief visualized: incomplete, fragmented, and claustrophobic.
Yet even these moments, which should be the emotional and intellectual heart of the film, feel hollow due to the underdeveloped script. Instead of building on these ideas, Vigalondo lets them drift, disconnected from any overarching thematic throughline. There’s a sense that the director is tossing out intriguing notions without committing to fully exploring any of them. As a result, the film comes across as a collage of unrefined concepts rather than a cohesive narrative experience.
The relationship between Nicolas and the dream-version of Daniela also raises provocative questions, especially as she begins to exhibit autonomy. At first, the dream Daniela is a puppet of Nicolas’ memory, reflecting only what he recalls and desires. But soon she evolves, asserting her own will and opinions, diverging from Nicolas’ constructed ideal. This shift echoes films like “Ruby Sparks,” which interrogate the ethics of control and idealization in romantic relationships. It could have been a brilliant commentary on the way we reimagine lost loved ones to fit our needs rather than honoring who they truly were. Sadly, this thread is introduced and then abandoned, leaving a tantalizing idea stranded without resolution.
Henry Golding, best known for his charming performances in films like “Crazy Rich Asians” and “A Simple Favor,” struggles to find his footing here. The fault lies less with his performance than with the inconsistencies in his character’s arc. Nicolas often seems at the mercy of the script’s fluctuating rules and vague motivations. One moment he is clinging to Daniela’s memory with desperate affection, the next he is inexplicably domineering, resisting her autonomy in ways that seem more narratively convenient than emotionally truthful. There is little in the way of character development or emotional evolution, making it hard for viewers to empathize with or invest in Nicolas’ journey.
As the film progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult to parse what is happening or why. The lines between dream and reality blur to the point of incoherence. In more deftly constructed films, this ambiguity can enhance the narrative, inviting viewers to reflect on perception, memory, and identity. In “Daniela Forever,” it only leads to confusion. Scenes feel disconnected from one another, characters’ intentions shift arbitrarily, and the internal logic of the dream world becomes so muddled that it loses emotional impact. Viewers are left trying to keep track of the rules rather than engaging with the story.
Visually, however, the film occasionally achieves brilliance. Vigalondo and cinematographer Jon D. Dominguez craft a compelling visual dichotomy between the real world and the dream realm. The real world is shot in a boxy, 4:3 aspect ratio, with desaturated colors and a grainy aesthetic reminiscent of VHS tapes. This creates a sense of claustrophobia and emotional stagnation. In contrast, the lucid dream sequences are rendered in vibrant, expansive widescreen, emphasizing the surreal and seductive nature of the dreamscape. These shifts in visual tone underscore the film’s themes of escapism and the contrast between harsh reality and comforting illusion.
Several standout sequences hint at the film’s untapped potential. In one, Nicolas walks through his dream-city like a superhero, completely invulnerable to his environment. Cars bounce off him, pedestrians ignore him, and the world bends to his will. It’s a striking metaphor for the intoxicating allure of fantasy, the power to reframe one’s narrative and erase pain. In another, he and Daniela explore the limits of their fabricated world, encountering gray blobs at the borders of his memory—a haunting visualization of the boundaries of human cognition and emotional reach. These moments show what the film could have been: an innovative exploration of loss, memory, and the subconscious.
Yet, these flashes of brilliance are fleeting. The movie quickly retreats into its default mode: static scenes of Nicolas wrestling with his emotions while the story stagnates. The pacing becomes glacial, and the film’s structure disjointed. The audience is left waiting for the narrative to coalesce, for the characters to gain clarity, for the ideas to crystallize—but that moment never comes. Instead, the film ends in a blur, emotionally and narratively unresolved.
Perhaps most disappointing is how little the film seems to care about its own stakes. The experimental dream program at the heart of the story is barely explained. Who created it? What are its limits? What are the ethical ramifications of its use? These are rich questions, ripe for exploration in a science fiction context, but Vigalondo seems uninterested in engaging with them. Instead, the film shrugs at its own premise, using it as a mere backdrop for emotional wallowing. It becomes clear that the film is less about the implications of technology and more about one man’s grief—but even that is not deeply explored.
By the end of “Daniela Forever,” the film feels like an unfinished sketch. Vigalondo seems overwhelmed by his own ambitions, throwing dozens of narrative and thematic ideas at the wall without bothering to see which ones stick. There is no central thesis, no emotional payoff, and no sense of closure. What remains is a frustrating experience, a film that insists it has something important to say but refuses to articulate it.
In many ways, “Daniela Forever” is a cautionary tale about the challenges of high-concept storytelling. Ambition alone is not enough. It takes discipline, clarity, and a willingness to follow through on one’s ideas to create something truly resonant. Vigalondo clearly has a visionary mind and a knack for intriguing premises, but here, he lets the narrative get away from him. The result is a cinematic experience that feels more like a dream fragment than a fully realized vision.
Ultimately, the film is a testament to the difficulty of translating grief into speculative storytelling. Where films like “Eternal Sunshine” and “Inception” balance emotional resonance with narrative innovation, “Daniela Forever” flounders, unable to find its emotional or intellectual center. It is a film filled with promise but devoid of fulfillment, a reminder that even the most compelling ideas can falter without direction.
“Daniela Forever” could have been a poignant meditation on love, loss, and the fragile architecture of memory. Instead, it is a disjointed and shallow echo of better films, content to splash around in the shallow end of emotion rather than plunging into the depths where meaning is found.
