Labyrinth of Passion

This is one of Almodóvar's first films, made in the early 80s, and it shows. Although it lacks polish, the meticulous plot is very impressive – zipping along extremely quickly, and winding around a large cast of outlandish characters before wrapping them all up in a satisfying bundle at the end.

There is a coherent shape to the film provided by the opening and closing shots. It begins with high-angles of two characters wandering around a market looking to hook up. Sexilia, a nymphomaniac, eventually invites a bunch of men to an orgy. Riza, a Middle Eastern prince living in exile, picks up a guy at at cafe. At the end of the film, Sexilia and Riza are enjoying their first sexual experience together on a plane soaring into the sky – the former converted to monogamy, the latter abandoning his homosexuality. The tropical island they are flying to is a heteronormative paradise. Sexual deviancy is left behind in Madrid.

That's a slightly weird ending for a film that otherwise celebrates the counter-culture that blossomed after the fall of Franco, with its camp discos and punk rockers. Probably the most outrageous subplot involves a girl enlisting Sexilia's help to escape from her father, who rapes her every two days. The girl gets plastic surgery that transforms her into Sexilia's double, and allows her to assume her identity while the real Sexilia elopes with Riza. Ironically enough, the new 'Sexilia' ends up back in an incestuous relationship, although a consensual one, with Sexilia's dad.

Almodóvar seems to suggest that the sexual lives of his characters are shaped by their particular histories. You may run away from incest but it will find you again. Similarly, Sexilia's nymphomania is an extended rebound from feeling rejected by Riza when they were on a beach holiday as children. Riza's homosexuality is also a result of feeling rejected by Sexilia. The two are destined to be together, but a misunderstanding as children has led them down alternate, delinquent paths. Sexual identity is both fluid – in that frigidity, homosexuality or nymphomania can all be 'cured' – and also fixed by the laws of romantic destiny. Sexilia and Riza are star-crossed lovers. All the fun in between is a swerve away from that fate.

Which makes the bubbling sexuality in Madrid portrayed by the film provisional, incomplete. The hunger for hookups in the street-market crowd is something the main couple literally fly away from. The skies provide the setting for the sexual union perfected. The rest of the characters have to muddle through on the ground, constantly shape-shifting but never quite finding contentment. Perhaps Sexilia and Riza's transformation into an ideal couple presents a longing for escape that always feels slightly out of the reach of the punks and queens of Madrid.

Almodóvar has said that his two main characters remain undeveloped because the film keeps getting distracted by its subplots and outlandish co-stars. Those diversions, chronicling the subculture of a very particular time and place, are what make the film interesting 30 years on.

The Skin I Live In

I'll take this as Almodóvar's atonement for Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, the last film he did with Banderas, and which made my political correctness siren start wailing over here. This film isn't entirely clear of testy moral waters. Like Talk To Her, there is a rape by an 'innocent'. Perhaps because of the different circumstances -- Vicente did stop (eventually...) when consent was withdrawn -- plus the fact that the film's stance is more distant, I didn't get worked up about it. Whether this is tantamount to hypocrisy I'll leave to you.

But at least here we have a prisoner (who may have succumbed to stockholm syndrome, or maybe not -- we are left to draw our own conclusions) who breaks free and is reunited with a real loving family (of women, of course). I wonder if Vicente steals Norma in the end?

The focus should be on Robert, however. A magnificent performance by Banderas, who has enough charisma and passion to sell his absolute devotion to his deceased wife and child, while at the same time being the clinical obsessive bad guy. When did the madness emerge? His wife started shagging his id-driven brother and his daughter was pretty old to be playing with toys when we first see her -- maybe Robert was the one that defenestrated both, albeit indirectly. Marilia was of the opinion that she had given birth to demons. Zeca "the tiger" is an animal, no restraint at all, a true rapist. Robert is all about restraint, control, observation, intervention -- I'm not surprised that his wife cuckolded him and his daughter developed social problems. And his undoing by Vera comes exactly when he lets her in. Just as he starts becoming human, punishment is delivered.

A wondrous film. The best Almodóvar mystery I've seen so far.

Volver

If Bad Education is about the dark side of Almodóvar's childhood, Volver revisits the light. We're back to films about women and family again. In an interview on the DVD, Almodóvar admits that for him, women symbolize "life" and "fun", a result of being raised in female company. The men of La Mancha (very macho apparently) did not deal with the kids or the household. So there's your reason for the slightly uncomfortable gendering present in many of Almodóvar's films.

But I can easily breeze past that. It doesn't matter that the family assembled here is female-only. The film is about more than that. Pedro reveals all in the roundtable discussion with his cast, also on the DVD. Volver ('return' -- it seems the Spanish word is simple enough for the international audience) is about justice. Qualification: human justice. Justice between people as opposed to (in Almodóvar's words) "institutional justice". You could also add to that justice meted out by the media -- there is a very pointed and bitter scene about a Jerry Springer-type TV show. These mediating bodies corrupt rather than heal (the early Marx would like this). Having buried bodies somewhere in your past, you should impose your own penalty, and pay it without regret.

Bad Education

Have to agree with this Time Out review: 'it's too fractured to stoke clear empathy or steer to dramatic satisfaction'. Didn't stop the reviewer giving the film 5 stars, but whatevs. At the end of that I remain curiously unmoved. It's the first time an Almodóvar film has not left me fazed. Why the lack of faze? What happened, Pedro?

One explanation is that the demands of the thriller plot result in Bernal's character remaining a mystery for much of the film. Great acting, sure, but you're not gonna be sympathising with an enigma. The three time-frame switches also don't exactly make investment in the story easy. Tangling up the threads of the narrative so much makes you lose momentum. A third of the way into the film, I literally started looking at the clock.

I wonder if I was missing something more, tho. When the villain finally returns to tell his extraordinary tale, the film doesn't push into the fantastic. It stays pretty subdued (for Almodóvar). There's not a lot of energy in the loco life of the blackmailed peadophile ex-priest, the blackmailing junky transexual, and the long-suffering ambitious brother. I think Almodóvar tried to cut through the mental and go straight for the ominous. But wouldn't it have been better if we had both? Maybe the contrast would have ENHANCED the two elements.

Both Bad Education and Talk To Her have gone for a darker style. Both films are also focused almost entirely on male characters. Almodóvar seems to be more ambivalent and equivocal when it comes to dealing with the men-folk. The new direction isn't really working for me, tbh. I miss the benign female universes constantly plagued by treacherous males. Those films got the light-dark balance right, I feel. They were soapy, colourful and exciting. This new stuff may be more 'mature', but it loses the things that made Almodóvar so special in the first place.

I guess what I'm saying is I prefer Almodóvar to stay stupid but fun. Perhaps that means delving into his earlier films, pre-Women on the Verge...

Talk To Her

This one, even more than Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, was an uncomfortable watch. I don't much like romantic fantasies that ask you to sympathise with rapists. We should allow Almodóvar to explain himself, however:

'The point about Benigno's character is that he is completely innocent, in the sense that he does not have experience. He lives in another world. This world is parallel to the real world but it has its own rules. Sexual orientation probably does not exist in this world. He could have probably gone for any object of desire but it just happens that he becomes enamoured of that body in the hospital. Strangely enough, it is the film that brings that onto him. The film makes him recognise his desire and makes it real for him. That's why he is so shaken up by the film. It suddenly makes it real for him.'

Benigno (Spanish for 'benign'? A very cruel joke...) lives in an innocent world with different rules. What in our world is rape was for him an expression of love. That decision ensures his death, but it also brings his Sleeping Beauty back to life. Does that justify his transgression? What is Almodóvar trying to say? I get the feeling that our morality and Benigno's warped morality get so tangled that the film cannot take a stance anywhere. As Almodóvar says, Benigno's 'tenderness becomes almost asphyxiating'. We're tied in knots.

Almodóvar draws attention to the role of cinema in this crucial twist in the narrative, but what is its significance? Does it corrupt Benigno's innocent world? Does it reveal his unknown desires, and so produce self-knowledge? Again, the film does not, cannot, take a stance.

What to make of the two gentlemen in general? One moves but doesn't talk, the other talks but doesn't move. Neither listens. Almodóvar says he wanted to begin the film by 'telling the audience that there are going to be two women with closed eyes who will be facing this world full of obstacles.' They float around, beautiful, mysterious. The guys just care for them, talk to them, but do not really know them. That is their shared tragedy, and we are asked to sympathise. Should we?

I think Almodóvar wants us to:

'...for there to be a loving relationship it is only necessary for one person to love. For there to be communication within a couple, it is enough for there to be only one person who communicates or who really wants to communicate. Even though a couple consists of two people, if one of the people in a couple puts all their effort into moving a couple along they will move along.'

Almodóvar says this is a movie he 'needed to make'. It's a 'declaration of sadness, of melancholy'. It sounds like Almodóvar wanted to valorize the loneliness of talking to someone without getting a response. I have problems with that sentiment (and the horrible place it leads to!) which meant I could not enjoy this film.

All About My Mother

After a very long hiatus, it's time to fire up that Almodóvar Season. This one is supposedly his finest work, so it's a good place to start. Again.

The film is beautiful, no doubt, but not just because of the dazzling sets and the clever frames. It's the actresses! Cecilia Roth, who plays the protagonist, is pitch-perfect in every scene. How she can portray affection AND discomfort, pain AND kindness, anger AND regret, is really quite magical. Marisa Paredes is tragic as the grim, pathetic fading star. Antonia San Juan of course kills everyone with her short speech about authenticity (one of the finest pieces of writing I've encountered in an Almodóvar film), but she is even more winning elsewhere as the witty, flirty, street-smart ally and confidante. Rosa Maria Sardá has a comparatively minor role, but she's brilliant as the confused and worried centre of a dying family. Penélope Cruz shines less brightly, but she holds her own in the scenes with Roth, and convinces as the vulnerable idealist in need of a home.

In fact, the only miss for me is Tony Cantó as Lola. While the poor quality sound may have been partly to blame, his performance at the funeral scene was just slightly off. It felt like it was straight overblown melodrama, which distanced rather than enhanced the emotion of the scene. Cantó looked great as the repenting charismatic rake, but he could not get beyond the costume. Slight stumble here, tho the rest of the film got the fantasy / reality balance perfect.

Because that's what Almodóvar's whole deal is, right? Crazy plotting, pulpy drama, nerdy referencing, but all that rendered somehow affecting, deeply moving. Without the actresses -- and without his talent for directing actresses -- I don't think it would work.

Which is why the final dedication 'to all women who act' is entirely appropriate. There are more dedications, and we might ask what else the film is about. Motherhood, suffering, forgiveness, friendship, fulfilment, perhaps. It's not a coherent set of messages for me. But it doesn't matter. Themes, for once, are not the main draw. I say again, this one is all about the women who act.

Women On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown

The Almodóvar season takes a little detour to consider the film that made his name on a world stage. An enjoyable romp, this one. Spontaneous and stylish, but with a bitter edge to it. Definitely not as warm as the other two films I've seen. Almodóvar can provide his own analysis. The DVD comes with an interview with him about the film, and here are some choice cuts:

'I consider comedy to be the most artificial of genres. I therefore wanted to start on a model of Pepa's apartment block and give the impression, helped by the sunlight pouring in through the window, that the model was the real thing. Then I'd pan across to the bed Pepa was sleeping in and the audience would then realize the building was a model. I remember I wanted to do this in one go, but for various technical reasons I was forced to split the opening sequence up into several shots. Losing the effect was very frustrating.'

'The voice-over has much to do with the technical problems I had with the opening sequence. I decided to use it for the sake of clarity and to bind all the shots together. It then became the basis for all the images of the film. And it ended up working very well. It was only at the end of the shoot that I decided to use a voice-over. Even if it's a little forced, the voice appeals to me because it explains Pepa's predicament; also because it compares the Pepa-Ivan couple to animals on Noah's Ark, which is an idea I'm very fond of.'

'Julieta's character is essential. It represents what all the other women in the film could become if they don't control themselves. Maria Barranco, the model who has an affair with the terrorist, Carmen Maura and Julieta represent three stages of frustrated love. As for Rossy de Palma, she's an innocent virgin but her fiance is dumping her for another woman. She won't remain a spectator of other people's passions for much longer.'

'The gazpacho in the film is a kind of magic potion. Like the potion in A Midsummer Night's Dream it can change the life of the person who drinks it and transport them to another world. The gazpacho transforms Rossy de Palma into a real woman. And her dream completes the transformation. When she wakes up Carmen tells her she's lost the kind of hardness and lack of sympathy typical of virgins.'

'The thesis of the film ... was to posit a feminine universe that's totally humane. The only remaining problem in this earthly paradise is that men continue to leave women. It's the perfect starting point for comedy: the taxi driver sings, he's like Pepa's guardian angel, the chemist is a wonderful woman. Obviously it's all ironic because city life is nothing like this...'

Live Flesh

The Almodóvar season continues, and happily we have a much better result tonight. Again, a romantic fairy-tale, but this time structured around an erotic thriller type plot. I LOVED it. A whole mesh of connections sweeps you along at breakneck speed. And the thing throbs with soapy, over-the-top melodrama. Thrilling.

A lot of ideas in Live Flesh were carried over from last night's Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, and I just want to note some of them down for future reference:

• Catholic imagery used in the opening of the film.
  
• A disabled character pining after a beautiful woman, and getting all jealous.
  
• The hero being an innocent sweetheart, released from some correctional institution.
• The hero smitten by one-night-stand. Brushed off, but wins the girl through good deeds.
  
• Also by being a demon in the sack. Love underpinned by an intense sexual connection.

We'll see if they crop up in film number three...

Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!

We might see the beginnings of an Almodóvar season developing here on the Hothouse, seeing as I've got a box set and I'm not afraid to use it. I've started with the earliest film in the collection, because I'm obsessive compulsive when it comes to these sorts of things.

How to read it? The film follows the 23-year-old Antonio Banderas, who is released from a mental hospital, finds the one night stand he's been obsessing over, and ties her up in order to make her fall in love with him. Banderas is a thief and a rogue, but a total romantic at heart. Eventually, after he undergoes a trial by pissed-off Madrid drug dealers, Victoria Abril's character succumbs to stockholm syndrome and they all live happily ever after.

...I mean, Christ! How DO you read this film??

I'm sure Almodóvar sees it very simply -- it's a romantic comedy, a fairytale. The finale is in a friggin' CASTLE, for pete's sake! But let's push that a little. Perhaps Almodóvar is suggesting that this pure, idealized romance can't find a foothold in modern Spain. Abril's character would just brush-off Banderas if he didn't resort to hand-cuffs and duct tape. True love in the big city requires extreme measures.

Banderas is a sweetheart. But am I being over-sensitive when I get uncomfortable with him punching Abril out? Should I just accept it when Banderas feeds Abril's drug habit without thinking of what is truly good for her, as her sister does? Banderas IS a sweetheart, but people who do this sort of thing in the real world AREN'T. Isn't the film being a little disrespectful to victims of domestic violence by overlaying their experiences with a romantic fantasy narrative?

I don't know. It's important to not get all moralistic when it comes to judging a work of art. But it's also important to admit when something makes you squirm. This love story is moving, and all the characters are fully realized and treated with sympathy. But I just can't get down with the 'forced to be free' tenor of the film's themes.