Kika (Pedro Almodóvar, 1993)

Victoria Abril

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar

Cast: Verónica Forqué, Victoria Abril, Peter Coyote, Alex Casanovas, Rossy De Palma.

Synopsis: Make-up artist Kika (Forqué) lives with her photographer boyfriend Ramón (Casanovas) who remains obsessed with his mother’s suicide some years earlier. Ramón’s ex-stepfather (and Kika’s ex-lover), Nicholas (an American writer (Coyote)), returns to Madrid after two years of travelling and moves into the studio above their apartment. Andrea (Abril) is a former psychologist (and Ramón’s ex) who now presents a garish reality TV show, El peor del día (The Worst of the Day), which broadcasts real footage of horrific crimes. Meanwhile, an escaped rapist seeks assistance from his sister (De Palma), who happens to be Kika’s housekeeper…

A.k.a. the first Almodóvar film I ever saw. Despite it being disliked by many people, and despite my own ‘issues’ with the film (namely the rape scene), I do hold it in some affection simply because it was my introduction to the director. It gives a scathing critique of ‘reality’ television and is a difficult film to like, perhaps not surprisingly given that Almodóvar has said that it is about ‘the sickness of big cities’ (Strauss 2006: 123). But Verónica Forqué gives a wonderful performance as the ever-optimistic Kika (and was memorably described in Sight & Sound as ‘a curious combination of Judy Holliday and Barbara Windsor’ by Paul Julian Smith (1994: 8)), and Victoria Abril also looks like she’s having fun as the deeply malevolent Andrea Caracortada (‘Scarface’). 

Machos in Madrid: Carne trémula / Live Flesh (Pedro Almodóvar, 1997)

Javier Bardem and José Sancho

       Paul Julian Smith states that, along with Almodóvar’s previous film (The Flower of My Secret (1995)), Live Flesh signals the start of a more mature phase of the director’s career (2003: 150), although it maintains several of his predominant interests, including the subversion of gender stereotypes (Smith 1998: 8). Live Flesh is effectively a treatise on machismo and the damage that it inflicts on both men and women, articulated through the generic guise of a thriller. It was the first of Almodóvar’s films to focus exclusively on masculinity and its incarnations (although women are the cause of much that goes on in the film), and Rikki Morgan-Tamosunas argues that this focus on male characters ‘exposes some of the contradictions inherent in traditional notions of masculinity’ (2002: 190). 

     Steve Marsh posits that the film is also the first of Almodóvar’s films to use men as something more than ciphers and that not only are they imbued with history, but they are also constructed by it (2004: 54): ‘While this is indisputably Almodóvar’s male movie, its exploration of heterosexual masculinity is intimately linked to the political configurations of the time and space of the city of Madrid’ (58). Almodóvar is part of Madrid’s cultural heritage, having been a major figure in la movida in the 1980s, and all of his films (including Live Flesh) had been set in Madrid. However, Almodóvar had always been a chronicler of the here and now, refusing to focus on the past, and his films were famous for avoiding direct references to Franco or the dictatorship; what marks out Live Flesh is that it is the last of his films (to date) to be set exclusively in Madrid (his next film, All About My Mother (1999), was his first to be set outside of Madrid (it mainly takes place in Barcelona) and his subsequent films have been made in a variety of locations), and the first in which Spain’s past reverberates through the narrative. History, masculinity, the city of Madrid, and Spain itself, become encapsulated in the lives of the three male characters (Sancho (José Sancho), David (Javier Bardem), and Víctor (Liberto Rabal)). 

Tacones lejanos / High Heels (Pedro Almodóvar, 1991)

Miguel Bosé

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar

Cast: Victoria Abril, Marisa Paredes, Miguel Bosé, Feodor Atkine, Miriam Díaz Aroca.

Synopsis: After more than fifteen years abroad, singer Becky del Paramo (Paredes) returns home to Spain to find her daughter, Rebeca (Abril), grown-up and married to one of Becky’s former lovers (Atkine). In her mother’s absence, Rebeca has taken to watching the performances of Femme Letal (Bosé), a drag artiste who imitates Becky’s musical performances from the 1960s. When all of these elements come together, murder follows…

A.k.a. the first Spanish film that I attempted to watch without subtitles. It didn’t go very well because I’d only had three Spanish lessons at that point, and surprisingly enough cross-dressing and murder investigations hadn’t featured in the vocab lists, but I did make some very detailed notes about the costumes! Shortly afterwards I did manage to find a copy with subtitles, so all became clear –it is virtually impossible to follow the plot if you can’t understand what is being said. I’d forgotten how much I liked it and also how strong the performances by the three central actors (Abril, Paredes, and Bosé –the latter of whom actually plays three different roles within the film, which was one of the things that confused me during the without-subtitles viewing) are. I was going to write a longer post about it for Almodóvar Month, but I’ve decided to use it for an ‘Anatomy of a Scene’ post at some point in the future instead. This seems to be one of Almodóvar’s lesser-known films, which is a shame because it is one of my favourites –check it out!

¡Átame! / Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! (Pedro Almodóvar, 1990)

Antonio Banderas and Victoria Abril

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar

Cast: Victoria Abril, Antonio Banderas, Loles León, Francisco (Paco) Rabal.

Synopsis: Freshly released from the mental hospital, Ricky (Banderas) wants to settle down, get married and have kids. He has decided that his future wife will be Marina (Abril), an ex-porn star, now serious actress (with a drug habit), who is working on a horror film for renowned director Máximo Espejo (Rabal). So he kidnaps her, ties her to the bed, and announces his intentions…

Released with little fuss in Spain (where it was favourably received by the critics and was among the biggest domestic hits of the year (Smith 2000: 108)), this film became notorious on its release in the US and led to the creation of the NC-17 certificate (the MPAA originally gave the film an X rating, which was usually applied to hard-core pornography). I’ve clearly become de-sensitised to sexual content because I struggle to see what the fuss was about (is the plot actually that different to Beauty and the Beast?). I think your perception of the film depends on whether you take the world on screen to be ‘reality’ or a heightened, Almodóvarian representation. I’m trying to keep these summaries short, so there isn’t really the space to discuss it here, but I don’t think that the film is intended to be taken as literally as some people have done. One to be written about in the future, when I’ve got more time and space to discuss it.

Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios / Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (Pedro Almodóvar, 1988)

Julieta Serrano

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar

Cast: Carmen Maura, Maria Barranco, Julieta Serrano, Antonio Banderas, Rossy De Palma, Kiti Manver, Fernando Guillen, Chus Lampreave.

Synopsis: Ivan (Guillen) has left Pepa (Maura). As she alternately tries to track him down around Madrid and waits for his call at home, a range of people (including her friend Candela (Barranco), on the run from the police for harbouring Shi’ite terrorists, the son she never knew Ivan had (Banderas), and Ivan’s unhinged wife (Serrano)) drop by her apartment to further complicate her life. With added Mambo Taxi.

This was Almodóvar’s breakout international hit and the film that, along with All About My Mother, seems to have found his broadest audience –certainly in my own experience, this is a film that most people have heard of, even if they haven’t seen it. It is a comedy but that label barely covers all that it contains –screwball tragic-comedy might be nearer the mark- because while it is undeniably funny, it also contains heartfelt and believable emotion. If you’ve never seen an Almodóvar film, this is a good place to start.

Reading Almodóvar, Part Two:

Part Two: Authors I - Z

Reading Almodóvar, Part One:

Like my lists of books on Spanish cinema, this is something of a cross between an annotated bibliography and a recommended reading list. This is not intended to be a definitive list –there are an abundance of other books and articles on Almodóvar and his films– but rather a list of texts that I have happened upon while researching Almodóvar, and / or Spanish cinema more generally. I don’t necessarily agree with all of the arguments or interpretations set forth by these authors, but I do think that their views are worth considering. The first Almodóvar film that I saw was Kika (1993), and this list contains a bias towards things written after that point (and about films made after that point as well). Likewise, there is a bias towards texts written in either English or Spanish, but given Almodóvar’s status in France there is also a wealth of material in French out there, if you care to look for it –particularly Cahiers du cinema, Positif, and Premiere (the French version). Most of the French magazines have websites where you can buy back issues (if you can’t get access to them through a library).
If I have embedded a link in the title, it will take you either to the abstract or the article itself –a great deal of material is now available online. Where that isn’t the case I will try to include enough information that you should be able to track it down via another route –if you can’t access the articles online, people in the UK will be able to get copies through the British Library or the BFI Library. In the case of reviews, I have just indicated which film is discussed.

Comatose Women in The Forest: Hable con ella / Talk to Her (Pedro Almodóvar, 2002)

This post is a reworked version of a twenty-minute paper I gave at a conference (‘Bitch, Witch, Whore: Representations of Women in Word and Image’) at Newcastle University in 2006.

Warning: contains spoilers.

   When I was reading about Talk to Her I came across a self-interview (on his website) (2002a) where Almodóvar made reference to Leonor Watling as having been marvellous as Alicia, ‘that sleeping beauty’ (lower case), and that set me to thinking about literary references within the film. The film concerns two ‘couples’ –the first made up of a nurse (Benigno –Javier Cámara) and his patient (Alicia –Leonor Watling), and the second of a journalist (Marco –Dario Grandinetti) and his bullfighting girlfriend (Lydia –Rosario Flores). When Lydia ends up comatose as the result of a bullfight she is placed in the same hospital as Alicia and that is how the two men come to meet each other. Talk to Her is a film concerned with the telling of tales; the audience are rarely shown ‘events’ firsthand, as characters are engaged in a series of flashbacks and a ‘re-telling’ of events. In a departure for Almodóvar, who usually draws his visual and narrative references from the cinema, this film is a tapestry of literary allusions ranging from The Night of the Hunter to Romeo and Juliet to The Hours, with the result that Talk to Her itself can be read in terms of a modern day fairytale. The upbeat ending is also in keeping with Bruno Bettelheim’s reading of the fairy story as being ‘optimistic, no matter how terrifyingly serious some features of the story may be’ (1976: 37).

   While the film focuses on the two male protagonists (Benigno and Marco), this [post] will examine the woman with whom they both interact, Alicia. She is one of a series of comatose or silent women in the narrative, and is cared for in a clinic called ‘El Bosque’, or ‘The Forest’. Alicia is at the epicentre, although not always the subject, of a series of references to archetypal literary heroines such as Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and Alice (in Wonderland). This [post] will argue that the combination of literary references and Almodóvar’s reputation as a ‘woman’s director’ means that there is more to the representation of the film’s women, who are comatose, voiceless, and lacking control over their own bodies, than is apparent at first glance. 

La ley del deseo / Law of Desire (Pedro Almodóvar, 1987)

Eusebio Poncela and Antonio Banderas

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar

Cast: Antonio Banderas, Carmen Maura, Eusebio Poncela, Manuela Velasco.

Synopsis: A stalker (Banderas) enters the lives of director Pablo (Poncela) and his sister (formerly brother) Tina (Maura) with tragic consequences –a tale of love and obsession.

This is the first of Almodóvar’s films to be produced by the production company (El Deseo) that he founded with his brother Agustín, and therefore the first of his productions where he had full control over the project. In many ways it is a flipside to his previous film, Matador, insofar as both explore the nature of desire: in Matador desire was centred on sex (and murder) and in Law of Desire the focus is love (in many different guises). Nonetheless desire is shown to be just as obsessive (and dangerous) as in the earlier film as what Pablo (Poncela) views as a casual relationship is seen as rather more by Antonio (Banderas), whose ‘love’ is in turn both obsessive and extremely possessive. Although not without its humorous moments, it is a dark film. That said, I think we are given enough reason to hope that the family unit made up of Pablo, Tina (Maura) and Ada (Velasco) is strong enough to survive the (moving) finale. Maura’s performance is magnificent and she richly deserved the awards that came her way.

Matador (Pedro Almodóvar, 1985)

Assumpta Serna and Nacho Martínez

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar and Jesús Ferrero

Cast: Assumpta Serna, Nacho Martínez, Antonio Banderas, Carmen Maura, Eusebio Poncela, Eva Cobo, Chus Lampreave, Julieta Serrano.

Synopsis: Bullfighting, sex, and death. Sometimes all at once.

This is a bit of an odd one -and Almodóvar admits that he can understand why (to the viewer) the themes (death and destiny) may appear more important than the story (Strauss 2006: 53). The two most memorable scenes (at least, the ones that I remembered ten years after seeing the film for the first time) are the beginning and ending. In the first, we hear the retired bullfighter, Diego (Martínez), describing the perfect kill (in the bullring) to a class of students while we see (meanwhile) María (Serna) killing her lover by the method being described. The closing sequence brings together the same themes (and characters) in an elaborate 'death-as-the-ultimate-orgasm' finale.