The recent melodramatic films of Pedro Almodovar have sent some of his earlier followers into a tailspin one of my colleagues rued the loss of the directors "impudence and his disappointed brethren are legion. Perhaps this is true but there was never a time in his latest, Volver, that I wasnt beguiled by his on the sleeve emotionalism and trademark chromatic derring-do.
The plot begins with Raimunda (Penelope Cruz), who one day comes home to find her husband dead after attempting to molest their daughter (Yolande Coho); the ensuing efforts to hide the body soon uncover the interference of what may be Raimundas mother (Carmen Maura), who died some years earlier in a fire with her husband. It wouldnt be cricket to reveal the rest, but rest assured that the feelings are big and the sets are as hyper-real as they come.
There is, however, something a little too writerly about the film (and the directors films of late); one can hear the steam pouring out of Almodovars ears as he puts down his sensationalistic story and its many declarations of emotional intent. But though I wouldnt call it a masterpiece, its still an immensely satisfying piece of work. Theres an outpouring of love for its female protagonists and almost no significant male characters; its a celebration of female resilience, especially for a filmmaker whos had his share of run-ins with feminists.
Plus, the micro-managed art direction all but blasts you out of your seat with its searing palette and immaculately vivid design. If it doesnt exactly illuminate, it shimmers just the same. Its a festival crowd-pleaser that gives good movie without insulting your intelligence in the bargain. (Mongrel Media)
(Mongrel Media)The plot begins with Raimunda (Penelope Cruz), who one day comes home to find her husband dead after attempting to molest their daughter (Yolande Coho); the ensuing efforts to hide the body soon uncover the interference of what may be Raimundas mother (Carmen Maura), who died some years earlier in a fire with her husband. It wouldnt be cricket to reveal the rest, but rest assured that the feelings are big and the sets are as hyper-real as they come.
There is, however, something a little too writerly about the film (and the directors films of late); one can hear the steam pouring out of Almodovars ears as he puts down his sensationalistic story and its many declarations of emotional intent. But though I wouldnt call it a masterpiece, its still an immensely satisfying piece of work. Theres an outpouring of love for its female protagonists and almost no significant male characters; its a celebration of female resilience, especially for a filmmaker whos had his share of run-ins with feminists.
Plus, the micro-managed art direction all but blasts you out of your seat with its searing palette and immaculately vivid design. If it doesnt exactly illuminate, it shimmers just the same. Its a festival crowd-pleaser that gives good movie without insulting your intelligence in the bargain. (Mongrel Media)
