Pedro Almodóvar

(On Cable TV, September 2021) I’m not the world’s biggest Pedro Almodovar fan, but I am slowly going through his filmography, and there’s nearly always something unusual, interesting and provocative in his work. In ¡Átame!, for instance, we get front-row seats to an utterly reprehensible romance as a man with mental health issues invades the apartment of an actress he’s got a crush on, and binds her to her bed until she falls in love with him. Yes, this is reprehensible “don’t try this at home unless you want to go to prison” behaviour — but Almodovar knows that, and there’s as much shock value in ¡Átame! as any other transgressive fiction. This extends to sexual content as well — including a long and somewhat credible sex scene that’s as cute at face value as it’s disturbing in the context of the film. But so it goes: this is not a film made to be emulated as much as it’s something to push the boundaries. By taking romantic comedy tropes to their fullest realization, ¡Átame! asks questions acceptable behaviour and delivers as big a fantasy as other tamer films. (It’s not an accident if references to horror films lurk around every corner.) This being from Almodovar, other familiar aspects of his film are there as well: the incredibly colourful cinematography, the one-scene tangents that could have been cut without trouble; the presence of Antonio Banderas, here almost looking like a teenager. It all makes for the kind of film you wouldn’t necessarily recommend as introductory material, but one that has plenty of jokes and commentary to make on other films.

(In French, On TV, December 2020) No one writes and directs films like Pedro Almodovar, and certainly no one can write an airplane thriller comedy like him. Largely taking place aboard a flight from Madrid to Mexico City that develops technical problems that may lead to a crash, I’m So Excited! takes a campy, comic, and very queer approach to its material, with lusty gay flight attendants trading barbs, sharing sexual exploit stories and drugging passengers to keep them quiet. The contrivances and complications inevitably reach Almodovarian proportions, enough to remind us that nothing here is meant to be serious or credible. While colourful and comic, I’m So Excited! is also overly broad and lightweight – and perhaps a bit dull when compared to its own best moments. The paradoxical result is that while bits and pieces of the film are great good fun, there’s too much of the not-so-much-fun material to keep a consistent tone. Another thing that really does not help is a female-on-male rape that’s played for laugh and singlehandedly slaps down the film’s good-natured charm by a full star or more. The last act also loses steam at a crucial moment where it should get crazier, and it doesn’t leave the film in the best shape in viewers’ minds as they take it all in. There’s clearly some potential here in having Almodovar go big, broad and colourful – but there are too many false notes (some of them honkers) in here to be completely acceptable.

(Netflix Streaming, July 2017) I’m not overly fond of Pedro Amodovar’s movies, but I have to recognize that he’s very good at what he does. He’s able to use melodramatic elements without necessarily feeling exploitative, and as Todo Sobre Mi Madre shows, he’s unusually skilled at presenting female characters. There’s also a welcome unpredictability to his work, especially compared to mainstream American releases—it’s never too clear where things are going, and characters are often killed mercilessly. It’s a different viewing experience and should be approached as such. Alas, a number of things limit my enthusiasm for the result. The pacing is often weird (at times too slow, at times too abrupt when something significant occurs), the meaningful references to other works are numerous and there’s no telling whether the film’s Spanish origins is, in itself, a distancing factor. As I’ve said, my appreciation for the kind of film that is Todo Sobre Mi Madre is limited, but even I have to admit that the result is well-crafted.

(In French, On Cable TV, February 2017) If ever you wake up one morning and feel that cinema is too boring, to rote, too safe for you, then have a look at Pedro Almodóvar’s Hable con Ella. Strange and off-beat and surreal in ways that can’t even be described in a capsule review, it’s a film about death, life, obsession, accusations, two women in coma, the men who care for them and an outrageous dream sequence. Good performances by the lead actors complement Almodóvar’s unusual script and direction. It doesn’t deal with the usual topics, and certainly doesn’t deal with them in the usual way. Good, great, bad, boring—I’m still not too sure how best to describe Hable con Ella, but it’s certainly memorable.