If there’s one thing that I’ve learned over watching hours and hours of films, it’s that it is impossible to really understand who Pedro Almodovar really. Trying to sum up the director’s filming style to the uninitiated is very much like trying to describe the concept of Inception to a pre-schooler; trying, confusing and very, very difficult. Like most things in cinema, the best way to get into the mind of Almodovar is to come face to face with his work and whilst it may introduce you to a world entirely strange, it is undeniably worth it.
When we think about Spanish cinema today, chances are that the way in which we do so is as a direct result of Pedro Almodovar. Since his entry into the film world in the ‘80s right up until 2013’s I’m So Excited, Almodovar has been changing the face and style of Latin cinema. The key to Almodovar’s success is that he has the audience in mind at every turn. Whilst other filmmakers have been criticised for marching to the tune of their own drum a little too much, Almodovar consistently creates work with entertainment in mind. His films might not be your cup of tea but they’ll certainly take you on a crazy ride.
Almodovar’s films take inspiration from old Hollywood classics, in which much of the action centres around a strong female character. Issues of gender and identity are frequently looked at in Almodovar’s films and whilst many of the narratives are amped up for cinematic effect, they are nonetheless effective.
Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
The director’s first step into the cinematic big leagues was with his 1988 hit Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. Not to be confused with John Cassavetes’ film of a very similar name, Almodovar’s film looked at feminism through a lightly comedic gaze, aiming to make women the centrepiece of cinema once more. Starring Almodovar regular, Antonio Banderas, the film follows a woman who has been recently left by her partner. In a bid to understand why, she starts looking obsessively into the matter, meeting a mix of diverse characters along the way. The film won a slew of awards and critical respect on its release and it’s not hard to see why. In its reframing of the romantic comedy, it pokes fun at the neatly packaged Hollywood fare, suggesting instead that life is a little more complicated than in the movies and in this case, art should follow real life.
All About My Mother
Over ten years later, Almodovar released another female-centric film, this time with a somewhat different focus. All About My Mother is told from the perspective of a mother in mourning who, after having discovered her dead son’s diary, journeys to Barcelona to find the boy’s absent father. The film, whilst comic in parts, is undeniably more dramatic than Almodovar’s earlier work and whilst many of his films continue to contain aspects of comedy, they do so with an emphasis much more on the dramatics. The narrative features many disparate characters and despite their diverse positions in society, shows how they are able to come together in the name of family.
Talk to Her
Talk to Her, Almodovar’s next offering, uses the female central character altogether differently. Two men fall in love with a comatose woman and through their conversations with her and with each other, become friends. The film plays the notion of the absent woman who, whilst physically “lost”, continues to play a huge influence on the men around her. The film is arguably more experimental and dream-like than his other works, dabbling in the world of dance and silent cinema. Although the narrative events are punctuated by bad luck, it is a constant joy to behold.
Broken Embraces
In 2009’s Broken Embraces, Almodovar returned to the film noir format of his much earlier works. Telling a four-way story of the perils of love, the film plays like an on-screen puzzle, mixing present and past interchangeably. It is consistently stylistic and self-referential, playing as an homage to a number of different genres of cinema. Like Talk to Her, it plays somewhat with the idea of a film within a film, layering narrative character arcs over one another to ensure maximum confusion. What’s clear is that as Almodovar’s filming career continued forward, the more enriched and complex his directorial vision became. What started out as a preference for female characters and film noir turned into something much more intricate, indicative of an entirely separate genre of its own.
The Skin I Live In
The Skin I Live In is perhaps the most disturbing of all of Almodovar’s works, telling an unfalteringly dark and grisly tale of male honour, deception and entrapment. To tell that narrative would be to ruin the ending for those that have seen it; the beauty of the film lies in it ability to reveal parts of itself at an achingly slow pace. For the first time, the director takes influence from the body horror genres, referencing directors like David Cronenberg, Alfred Hitchcock and Dario Argento. Whilst the events on screen can hover into the melodramatic from time to time, it’s clear that Almodovar does so with intent and that he is constantly thinking of the cinematic journey of the viewer. The film is a disturbing and unsettling watch but like all Almodovar fare, affecting, thought provoking and (unpleasantly) entertaining.
More than any other director, Almodovar seems to be in tune with every aspect of the human experience. Whilst other filmmakers tend to tether themselves to a specific genre, Almodovar creates once which is entirely his own and whilst diverse in tone, are instantly recognisable. Although defined by specific social issues and events, the director has managed to take them as individual elements, looking at the many faces of gender, sexuality and relationships and presenting them in constantly new ways. Somehow, Almodovar has managed to pull off staying artistically “loose” whilst defining his style of cinema. And more’s the better. Were the cinematic world to lose a figure like Almodovar, I have a feeling that it would be a much less interesting place to be.