Talk to Her
dir. Pedro Almodóvar
El Deseo S.A.

For hard-core Pedro Almodóvar aficionados, Hable con Ella (Talk to Her), will seem like a film by another director. In the past, with movies like Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and All About My Mother Almodóvar has distinguished himself through implausibly complicated plot lines, wild character developments and an aesthetic that borders on the ridiculous side of Spanish postmodernism.

In Talk to Her, Penelope Cruz's pregnant nun and Antonio Banderas' mile-high pompadour have been sidelined in favor of a more even-paced — dare I say normal? — exploration of modern-day solitude. Those watching closely will still spot Almodóvar's tricks of the trade: clever movies within movies; an intimate look at bullfighting, that most Spanish of endeavors; cinematography that focuses on the picturesque qualities of lava lamps and breasts; and the inclusion of at least one Almodóvar "regular," in the essential role of middle-aged nosy landlady. Those unfamiliar with the director's previous work will see a well-crafted and compelling story, one that Almodóvar himself has described as distinct from his other movies because it is "para llorar" ("for crying").

The narrative follows four Spaniards, each sorting through his or her own version of loneliness: Benigno, a nurse, has spent his entire life devotedly caring for his recently deceased mother, and now dedicates himself to obsessing over his current patient, Alicia, who has been in a coma for four years; Lydia, a female bullfighter, regrettably splits with her boyfriend but is now together with Marco, who still pines for a lost love of his own. The movie intertwines the lives of these four characters and their personal takes of various levels of solitude: from the sweetly pathological nature of Benigno, to the vegetative state of Alicia, to the sensitive manliness of both Marco and Lydia.

In between, Almodóvar craftily weaves the absurd with the everyday, painting a picture not so much of Spanish society but of human compassion and marginality taken to the extreme. The film is compelling because Almodóvar treats this central theme with grace and a touch of humor.

One of Almodóvar's great gifts is his ability to blend various art forms on film. Photo stills from Talk to Her were recently exhibited in a Madrid gallery as well as published in book form to a good degree of artistic success.

Almodóvar takes great care in his selection of music, costume and setting (his movies of late serve Spain's tourist industry very well). This all-inclusive artistry may very well go unnoticed by the casual observer while surreptitiously broadening the viewer's understanding of the modern Spanish aesthetic. One of the most striking scenes in "Talk to Her" — and one which captures this artistic vision to a T — involves Lydia the bullfighter's meticulous ritual of dressing and her exacting performance in the ring. Not since Almodóvar's earlier Matador have international audiences been privy to such a careful argument for why bullfighting makes it onto the "Arts & Culture" page of the Spanish press (and not the Sports section).

Almodóvar's films are the most consistently and widely distributed of international cinema; Talk to Her is an engaging and thoughtful film that scores the director another deserved win in his quest to fill the foreign art-movie-that-you-don't- realize-is-an-art-movie- until-you-read-a-review-of-it niche. And, as usual, it's a good flick, too.

— Sara J. Brenneis (sara at flakmag dot com)