Pedro Almodovar’s latest film, Hable con ella(Talk To Her) is one of his best, I think; it is different than anything else he has done before; this difference can best be described as a new fluidity, with which he recombines elements recognizable from all his earlier films…
Talk To Her can only be described by a series of contradictions. It’s a romantic melodrama that ends in tragedy, moving back and forth between two heterosexual couples. It’s a tender expression of the love between two men, neither of whom will admit to being gay (though one of them pretty clearly is). It’s a campy deconstruction of the ridiculousness of sexual desire. It’s an extended meditation on bodies in motion and at rest. It’s a metacinematic reflection on silent cinema and dance. It’s a passionate and sympathetic portrayal–and defense–of necrophilia.
And weaving these all together, there is that new fluidity I mentioned. Both in the way the film meanders backwards and forwards in time, and in the way it continually shifts gears, genres, and moods; and also, I think, in the camerawork.
What makes this an Almodovar film, though, finally, is the way it celebrates the singularity of passion–in all its ridiculousness and unseemliness. The central character, Benigno (Javier Cámara), is creepy, totally un-self-aware and in denial, and more than a little crazy; he’s a stalker, and virtually a rapist (or, you might say, a virtual rapist, though not an actual one). And yet, you have to love him for the sheer intensity and devotedness of his passion. (Though I should really say, two passions: a man’s love for a woman, and a man’s love for another man). And though Benigno’s passion can only culminate in tragedy, this is tragedy not as punishment for transgression, but as a sort of higher fatality–an expression of impossibility–a tragedy of which he proves himself worthy.
And I haven’t even talked about the wonderful, outrageous silent-film-within-the-film…