I'm So Excited, review - Telegraph I'm So Excited! is vertiginously disappointing in the way only bad films from great filmmakers can be. Pedro Almodóvar's 19th feature is part prickly social satire, part pansexual farce; two modes that normally come as second nature to this Spanish arch-transgressor. Here, though, the combination is a nightmare: a rich and oozy cheese platter generously seasoned with chalk. The film is set almost entirely on a Spanish passenger jet supposedly bound for Mexico City, but which is in fact circling aimlessly at 30,000 ft above the Iberian Peninsula after a fault develops in the landing gear. In business class sits a cross-section of the country's great and not-so-good: a crooked investment banker, a greying actor and Lothario, a high-society call girl, and so on. A mincing trio of cabin stewards spike their drinks with mescaline; lips quickly loosen and trousers soon follow. Meanwhile in economy, the proles doze obliviously, tranquilised on captain's orders. It's an extended skit on the various financial and social crises currently unfolding in Almodóvar's home country: in short, the reign in Spain falls, mainly on the plane. The Spanish title is Los Amantes Pasajeros (a pun on passengers and passing lovers), although the Pointer Sisters song that furnished the film with its English name puts in an appearance as a lip-synched musical number. There is a blood-curdling moment when you realise they really are going to sing the whole damn thing: two verses, four choruses, and a middle eight that feels about as long and draining as Tarkovsky's Stalker. We do occasionally leave the business-class cabin: in a limp prologue, Antonio Banderas and Penélope Cruz play a besotted couple who inadvertently cause the landing gear fault, and later there is a fun Madrid-set subplot that fleshes out the history of Ricardo (Guillermo Toledo), the womanising actor. This is certainly a change of pace from The Skin I Live In (2011) and Broken Embraces (2009): a dollop of cappuccino froth to follow those films" rich and bitter depths. It shares some ideas with Almodóvar's earlier comedies, particularly Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988), although the humour here is intentionally cheap and bad-taste, and often teeters into gross-out. This feels like a film Almodóvar had to get out of his system - a kind of cinematic kidney stone - and your gut will twinge in sympathy.