Pain and Glory (Dolor y Gloria)

Director Pedro Almodóvar

Almodóvar with actor Asier Etxeandia in the background

Almodóvar working with actor Asier Etxeandia

Almodóvar working with actress Julieta Serrano and Antonio Banderas

Almodóvar with Antonio Banderas

Almodóvar surrounded by Asier Etxeandia (left) and Antonio Banderas

Pedro Almodóvar surrounded by Raúl Arévalo (left) and Penélope Cruz

PAIN AND GLORY (Dolor y Gloria)                      B                    

Spain  (113 mi)  2019  d: Pedro Almodóvar

In something of a playful nod to Fellini’s 8 ½ (1963), Almodóvar attempts to express a somewhat fictionalized autobiographical portrait, much of it shot in his own apartment in Madrid, with an overly self-centered Antonio Banderas (winner of the Best Actor award at Cannes), showing a sense of benign resignation as the protagonist Salvador Mallo, wearing many of the director’s recognizable outfits, depicting the life of an aging filmmaker (Almodóvar is now 70) who is suddenly incapacitated by a deluge of maladies, much of it incurred in the aftermath of spinal-fusion surgery, including insomnia, migraines, acid reflux, ulcers, tinnitus, chronic back pain with associated nerve and muscle aches, along with inexplicable choking fits where he can barely breathe, with an animated drawing revealing all the ways the body is afflicted, crushing up pain pills in his food, leaving him dispirited and overly morose.  As a result, he is homebound, barely ever making public appearances, preferring to live the life of a hermit, unable to write or tap into his creative forces, as he’s overcome by the chronic pain he endures.  Filmmaking is out of the question, as it requires physical strength he simply doesn’t have anymore.  So he sits around on his ass and dreams of his childhood, which plays out onscreen, using frequent flashbacks of significant moments in his life throughout the film, all of which help define who he is today, a man supposedly at a crossroads.  Ironically, this creative paralysis coincides with the restoration of a film he made thirty years ago, now considered a masterpiece, which is being rescreened at Madrid’s Spanish Cinematheque with a great deal of public fanfare, including a scheduled Q & A after the film with the director and lead actor, which just happens to coincide with the recent restoration of Almodóvar’s own Law of Desire (La ley del deseo) (1987), recalling his battles with actor Eusebio Poncela (but also starring a young Antonio Banderas).  The problem is the two haven’t spoken to each other in 30 years due to a fallout during the shoot over how the protagonist was portrayed, as the actor, Alberto Crespo (Asier Etxeandia, with a De Niro ferocity), played him dramatically heavy while the director was expecting something comic and light.  Having reviewed the film again for the first time in all those many years, he’s come to regret his initial viewpoint, as the actor nails the performance, providing more dramatic intensity than he had anticipated.  So swallowing his pride, he makes a trip to the actor’s residence, arriving unannounced, causing a great deal of skepticism, as he’s not exactly greeted warmly.  Alberto, however, introduces him to an old habit of his, smoking heroin, which Salvador takes to with unbridled enthusiasm, like the answer to his prayers, as it alleviates the pain better than all known doctor remedies, so he’s immediately hooked, spending days with the actor, who has to literally kick him out to send him home, where he’s immediately at a loss.  In a somewhat hilarious scene, he’s takes a cab into the gritty, crime-infested neighborhoods inhabited by groups of blacks, buying drugs off the street from the first person seen, coinciding with a police raid on the street, violently apprehending another suspect, where it’s like a whole other world than the museum-like sanctuary of his own home. 

Needless to say, Salvador and Alberto spend nearly every waking hour together, with Alberto famously commenting that his drug supply is delivered to his door with the ease of ordering a pizza.  Nodding out in a dream reverie, his drug use seems to arouse a series of memories, all happening inside his head, while Alberto, having nothing better to do, explores what’s on Salvador’s computer, discovering a short play entitled Addiction that he thinks is brilliantly written and could help resuscitate his near extinct career, as he identifies so passionately with the emotional journey.  Salvador finds it too autobiographically revealing, preferring to avoid public scrutiny.  When the two don’t show up for the scheduled Q & A, but are instead phoned at the last minute, they are put on speakers, amplifying the questions and answers for all sitting in the audience to hear, still smoking their drugs while they speak, with Salvador foolishly confessing the issue he had with Alberto’s performance was his heroin use, as it was something as a director he steered away from, but did go on to acknowledge his opinion of his performance has changed over the years, but by then Alberto is ready to rip his head off, incensed by this public revelation that could squash his career, literally hating the grounds this man walked upon.  So after a brief détente another Berlin Wall was constructed between them.  This little interlude is hilarious, but fictionalized, as Almodóvar was a child of the 80’s when cocaine use was rampant, which was his particular drug of choice, active on many different fronts, steering away from heroin, though some among his acting ensemble used it, where he witnessed how it interfered in personal relationships, as heroin users became untrustworthy and completely unreliable.  Very ironic, then, that it is portrayed as his saving grace, the missing cure for all that ails him.  His drug experiences take him back to when he was 9-years old, when his mother (Penélope Cruz) led him to another village, following his father (Raúl Arévalo) and his search for work, ending up living inside a cave, which needs some remodeling, discovering a local laborer who is illiterate, Eduardo (César Vicente), with his mother offering Salvador’s services teaching him to read and write if Eduardo would whitewash the walls and help install a needed sink.  This arrangement works perfectly, with little Salvador demonstrating excellent teaching proficiency while Eduardo’s work really changes the look of the place.  But the scene with the most profound influence has to do with Eduardo stripping naked to wash himself, an image that still lingers in the back of his mind.  The interrelation between the two is exquisitely expressed, each respecting what the other can do, with little Salvador posing for a drawing made by Eduardo, just sitting in a chair reading a book, yet it’s a charming portrait, exhibiting an artistic flair. 

Well-acted, nicely edited, and beautifully shot by José Luis Alcaine, with the full color spectrum of Almodóvar colors brightly utilized, creating a dazzling artistic design that heightens one’s appreciation for the film, which could just as easily be entitled Portrait of an Artist as an Old Man.  A change of heart sends Salvador back to Alberto’s home, script in hand, offering him a chance to perform it (removing his name as the author), a one-man show, drawing record crowds, where we see a piece of it, an intimate examination of the young life of the artist, including a romantic love affair with another man in Madrid back in the 80’s when his love couldn’t save the man from his heroin addiction, yet it’s presented with such idyllic urgency as if it was happening right before our eyes.  Alberto receives a surprise visit backstage from the absent lover in the play who is in search of Salvador after all these years, Federico (Leonardo Sbaraglia), who felt every word of the play, as if knowing it by heart, culminating in a visit to Salvador’s Madrid apartment, where this belated rendezvous is an understated expression of what the passing years do to the body, but not the spirit, which remains as youthful and invigorated as ever, but Federico has a life and family to return to in Buenos Aires, where he runs a restaurant.  The eloquence of the visit cannot be forgotten, as it’s a place where memories and reality merge, having a profound effect on Salvador afterwards, throwing away his drugs, revisiting his doctor, receiving the needed medical treatment, assisted by his good friend Mercedes (Norva Navas), his personal assistant that arranges everything, as he attempts to restore the needed equilibrium in his life, rediscovering his creative impulses, as he starts writing again, where we see the title, “El Deseo (Desire),” named after the Almodóvar production company, though it’s actually entitled The First Desire.  As he’s about to have throat surgery, he has flashbacks to his aging mother (Julieta Serrano), recalling a promise made to her that he would never fulfill, as she died tragically several years ago before he could return her back to the village where she was born, something that has eternally haunted him.  But it’s something he tells her near the end that haunts the rest of us, “I’ve failed you simply by being as I am,” a joltingly humane confession with profound implications.  As if by accident, Mercedes shows him a painting discovered earlier in a flea market that has just been sitting around, as if in storage, with no one having a chance to look at it.  With a short note written on the back, it’s Eduardo’s drawing of him as a child, turned into a watercolor, paying a debt of thanks for his help, where as if by some miracle, it has finally reached its rightful owner, likely sent years ago, perhaps found amongst his mother’s things.  It’s a touching moment that only Salvador could possibly understand, fraught with hidden meaning, merging with the subject of his new project, The First Desire, as we see earlier scenes of himself as a child along with his mother, but as the camera pulls back we see he is filming these moments, back to working again, as the balance is finally restored, where this intimate portrait beautifully provides a poetic arc of his life. 

Stockholm

STOCKHOLM           B                                 

Spain  (91 mi)  2013  d:  Rodrigo Sorogoyen                Official site [Spain]

While the title of the film is referenced in an opening conversation between guys in a nightclub, “Stockholm syndrome,” but it’s basically a throwaway line that quickly gets lost as the evening progresses.  However minimal it may be, it’s typical of how language has lost much of its meaning with the youth of today, especially when used in pick up attempts, where men rarely say what they really mean, as instead they speak in a kind of code where they can pick and choose whatever meaning they want, depending on who they’re talking to.  Little is worth remembering, as it’s become a kind of disposable tool, replaced by the equally transitory nature of social media where people text instead of talk to each other.  While basically a two person theatrical piece shot in two parts, shifting the emphasis onto each character, the film is a haunting reminder of the importance of language, showing the devastating consequences of when it matters to one and not the other.  While much of this is nothing new, where a young twentysomething Casanova (Javier Pereira) promises the world to an attractive young woman (Aura Garrido) he meets hoping to get her into bed with him, turning the art of seduction into something of a game where they don’t even use names, yet the highly appealing, quirky aesthetic holds the audience’s attention with a certain novelty of style, where the interaction between characters actually looks like fun, though it’s fraught with mood swings.  Meeting at a party, he hits on the girl, who quickly rejects his advances, but he refuses to be deterred and comes right out declaring his love for her, a rather preposterous remark since they only just met and they know nothing of one another.  Nonetheless, he persists on proving his love, where she puts him through a few tests where he apparently comes through with flying colors, as what was initially unobtainable suddenly seems to be emotionally engaged, where both are holding each other’s rapt attention.      

Shot in just 13 days in Madrid on a shoestring budget, using the filmmaker’s own apartment and his roommate as the lead actor, this is another men behaving badly movie that explores a developing relationship through long unraveling conversations where both characters exhibit intelligence, humor, and an intriguing personality, where they’re not the least bit threatening, using charm to overcome any awkwardness, and there are moments when it’s about to come to an end, as she keeps refusing to kiss him, where someone has to resuscitate the interest.  In the beginning, he goes through every hoop to hold her attention as they stroll in real time through the deserted late-night streets of Madrid illuminated by the glistening lights, all captured by the luminous cinematography of Alex de Pablo.  While not everyone would succumb to his charms, the girl here seems to know what she’s getting into, but also feels a bit swept off her feet, as if she likes all the attention she’s receiving.  Perhaps not surprisingly, they end up back in his apartment, where an enchanting elevator scene using changing speeds, set to the rollicking music of Rossini’s “The Thieving Magpie” Rossini - The Thieving Magpie, Overtu YouTube (5:57), expresses a feverishly fantastical moment of romantic reverie that seals the deal.  By morning, however, the emphasis shifts to the woman, where we soon learn the guy is something of a neat freak, but in the bedroom she discovers several photographs of the guy photographed with another girl, and they all look recent.  While she still looks stunning in the morning dressed all in white, the filmmaker chooses to saturate the screen in white, creating an aura of innocence, while the guy already looks inpatient, as if he can’t wait for her to leave.  With stunning accuracy, she recounts some of the promises made the night before, catching him in a series of one lie after another, where his behavior couldn’t be more rude and obnoxious, leaving her wondering what happened to his undivided attentiveness. 

As much as the art of seduction was a game, so is the art of leaving the morning after, where one can go willingly without causing a scene, or one can stand their ground and refuse to go, expecting the guy to live up to all his earlier promises and holding him accountable.  This kind of scrutiny really freaks out the guy, who gets physical and pushes her to the floor when she doesn’t follow his orders to leave.  While it’s a peculiar strategy, and one that makes her look a little crazy, her insistence on staying produces unorthodox results to say the least.  While she boxes the guy into a corner, using his own words against him, his efforts to avoid answering these charges proves futile, as she’s made herself pretty clear.  The peculiar message underlying these scenes is the difference between sincerity and superficiality, where one is real and the other is pretend.  The guy simply doesn’t get that she’s being real, as no one’s ever stood up to him like this before, but his wounded pride won’t let her get the better of him, so he starts admitting he may have exaggerated a bit the night before, but then rationalizes his actions with how this is the social custom.  Her heartfelt responses and calculated criticism of his boorish behavior really set them at odds with one another, where the guy is so surprised by this that these scenes are played for both absurd comedy and tragedy, but Garrido is really masterful in the way she commands these scenes, while the other guy, who dominated the first half with his neverending charm, has turned into a deceitful bastard that really isn’t worth the time of day.  Nonetheless, she stays, forcing him to deal with the reality of his own actions, making him take responsibility for whoever he is as a person.  The psychological power shifts on display are weirdly surprising, as it’s so atypical of any behavior we’re used to seeing as well, as she seems to hold his attention by exposing her own vulnerability.  Slowly his anger subsides and he begins respecting a worthy adversary.  No one could possibly have expected where this film was going to get to this point, where the writing overall is humorous and original, with streaks of something far deeper and more profound, but carefully sidestepped by both until a climactic moment near the end that changes the playing field, where her pure unadulterated innocence finally transcends his earthly callousness.    

Law of Desire (La ley del deseo)

LAW OF DESIRE (La ley del deseo)   A-    
Spain  (102 mi)  1987  d:  Pedro Almodóvar

Considered Almodóvar’s most personal, but also one of his funniest films, a blurring of art and reality, a jumbled mix of comedy, erotic drama, over the top melodrama, and suspense thriller, murder mystery, featuring a magnificent performance from Carmen Maura, who is perfect in her sexual ambiguity as a love-starved, overly sensuous actress who turns out to be a transsexual, who all but steals the movie from everyone else.  Opening with wild orchestral music by Shostakovich from his 10th Symphony (1987): Opening titles - Shostakovich's Symphony no.10 ... - YouTube (1:27), conducted by Kiril Kondrashin no less, you know you’re in for a bumpy ride, and this film does not fail.  The opening sequence is a hilarious film within a film, which features an actor following unseen voiced instructions to get naked and pleasure himself on a bed, a beautiful set up for a slowly developing scene where the camera eventually pulls back and we see two balding old farts reading a script of overheated, out of breath gasps and heavy pants of two supposed male characters having sex.  Also featured are many signature Almodóvar touches, his love for the city of Madrid, a town filled with familiar faces and an over-testosteroned, yet inept police presence, male abandonment, an overexposed media, an almost peculiar interest in sex, telephones, dysfunctional families, dirty priests, and drug use.  This film, more than any other Almodóvar film, makes the best use of overly dramatic pop songs, where the lyrics perfectly express the emotions in such a character driven film.  In effect, Almodóvar is tapping into Latin American sentimental songs, called boleros, that are at the emotional center of this film, paying homage to different forms of expression that Spaniards had, to a certain extent, disdained before Almodóvar came onto the scene.

Eusebio Poncela plays Pablo (a stand-in for the director?), a character who’d feel right at home in Fellini’s LA DOLCE VITA (1960), whose self-centered narcissism is reflective of the gay life in post-Franco Madrid, as he parades around in silk suits and wild flower shirts wearing shades, playing the film director from the opening scene who takes home any young man that interests him, feeding him with lines of coke, so he’s pretty much butt naked much of the time, while Maura plays his sister Tina that used to be his brother, and stars in his latest one-woman-show stage production of a 1930 Jean Cocteau play, The Human Voice, a monologue about a woman and a suitcase which resurfaces again in Almodóvar’s next film as well.  Tina is also caring for Pablo’s young daughter Ada (Manuela Velasco), exposing her to the comforts of the church (where she sang as a young altar boy) in her own overtly personalized way (“I used to jerk-off in here all the time.”), breaking out into sacred song for a priest that is extremely uncomfortable seeing what’s become of this once favored child.  There is a wildly inventive scene where both Tina and Ada are on stage, Maura is wearing a revealing silk slip while talking on the phone in one of those life or death conversations, while young Ada appears to be levitating as if she's standing on thin air in a slowly moving dolly-on-wheels, lip-synching to one of the more overtly dramatic songs in the film, Maysa Matarazzo’s “Ne Me Quitte Pas (Don’t Leave Me)” La Ley Del Deseo (Trailer) YouTube (2:27), which works so well, she does it again going back the other way.  This becomes even more hilarious when Ada’s real mother, Bibiana Fernández, one of Spain’s most famous real-life transsexuals, shows up and wants to take her to Milan, but Ada has no interest in her mother’s cavalier and overly nonchalant lifestyle and wants to stay with the more stable and dependable Maura, who she emulates, much of which is acted out just offstage.  Again, the song lyrics brilliantly match what we are experiencing onstage.

Back to the life of the director, Pablo, who we first see with lover Juan, Miguel Molina, a younger man who is unable to commit, still exploring with the idea of love and is not yet comfortable being gay, so he returns to work in a small coastal town, leaving an opening for Antonio Banderas as Antonio, a bisexual young man who stalks and eventually seduces the director before murdering his boyfriend, making his move with such an all-consuming passion that all hell breaks loose, his first such venture into homoerotic sexuality, expressed by an overwhelming need to possess Pablo all to himself, where he shatters the ties that hold everyone together.  He disposes of Juan on a rocky cliff reminiscent of Vertigo (1958), while then covering his murderous tracks hiding behind lame excuses that are backed up by his overly protective mother.  Pablo, in despair at the death of Juan, drives into a tree and loses his memory.  At the hospital, Tina fills in all the lurid details of their past, including her love affair with her own father, which resulted in her sex change operation incest scene in La Ley del deseo with Carmen Maura (Almodovar movie) YouTube (3:00).  Tina is the emotional center of the film, especially her poignant feelings about her tortured past and her distrust of men, where her history recalls Elvira in Fassbinder’s In a Year of 13 Moons (In einem Jahr mit 13 Monden... (1978), where like Elvira, she even gets her sex change operation in Morocco, but ends up being much more comfortable in her own skin.  She’s found a new love of her life, and it turns out to be none other than Antonio on another obsessed rampage.  The police, the bungling duo of real-life father and son, Fernando Guillén and Fernando Guillén Cuervo, haven’t a clue until eventually Antonio kidnaps Tina, demands Pablo, then in an hour of uninterrupted time that he successfully negotiates, makes love to Pablo while the dramatic music blares out onto the street below, confounding the police who can only scratch their heads as a crowd of onlookers gathers in mass.  LAW OF DESIRE is one of Almodóvar’s most explicit treatments of homosexuality in his films, in its day a breath of fresh air, representing the director at his best in the early stages of his career, where his ability to combine social commentary with an extraordinary amount of risk-taking cemented his reputation as an early forerunner in advancing queer cinema.