Post by Capo on Sept 9, 2009 22:07:07 GMT
I'd describe this as naff, lifeless, lethargic and dull. It's actually the same old same old from Almodóvar, and it's the film by which I decide I'm not a fan of his work. He's not a bad director, and he's certainly sincere, but he strikes me as someone who puts a lot more thought into how his films look than what any of them 'say'. As with all the others I've seen, I don't think I'll be able to give a coherent synopsis of this within three months (I don't recall anthing of Volver), perhaps other than to remember certain images or feelings I experienced during the duration of the film.
Stylistically, his films are lush; he's said that in his earlier films he didn't trust lighting, and so would literally have his sets made as colourful as possible. Now he seems to trust cinematographers a lot more, and it shows, because his style is visually more sophisticated now. But in creating a formal tapestry of recurring visual motifs and self-references and narrative flourishes, he's created for himself an undoubted auteur status, at the expense of challenging himself as an artist. He's noted in the past that filmmaking for him is a drug, is an escape, is the 'only reality' for him, and again I think it shows; it's unhealthy. All of his films look and feel and sound the same, but they lack direction, focus and intellectual weight.
The performances are good, but I think often in his films it's quite easy for them to be; actors blend in with the sets - expressive, camp, colourful, cartoonish. Cruz is absolutely astonishingly gorgeous and feisty. Everything seduces and sweeps the viewer along - you get the feeling Almodóvar experiences the same sort of thing when he approaches the work, this feeling of aesthetic seduction... who cares if we flash back here, we do it in such a measured way and with such flair, it becomes nice to watch in itself. Indeed and after all, this is the guy who made the would-be gruesome and morally and psychologically devastating aftermath of murder so visually appealing in Volver.
But such flair in itself is becoming less and less interesting, for me, because there's a fundamental lack of heart. As an attempt at a film with noir-ish aspects, it lacks suspense and drive. He's said it's more of a drama than a melodrama, but it's hysterical and wishy-washy, with little keeping it in check. It actually shows a flippant disregard for originality or realism; this is 'masturbation cinema', 'fantasist cinema', 'escapist cinema', made by someone who wishes to escape.
And am I the only one who's tired of his protagonists being film directors who are obsessed by their art and by a woman? By claims of making 'love hymns to the power of cinema'? (Especially when said hymns are not powerful.) By plots that 'get carried away' with themselves and too obsessed by mirroring their own structure? I get the sense it wishes to be transcendent, when in fact it sets itself no reality to transcend.
Stylistically, his films are lush; he's said that in his earlier films he didn't trust lighting, and so would literally have his sets made as colourful as possible. Now he seems to trust cinematographers a lot more, and it shows, because his style is visually more sophisticated now. But in creating a formal tapestry of recurring visual motifs and self-references and narrative flourishes, he's created for himself an undoubted auteur status, at the expense of challenging himself as an artist. He's noted in the past that filmmaking for him is a drug, is an escape, is the 'only reality' for him, and again I think it shows; it's unhealthy. All of his films look and feel and sound the same, but they lack direction, focus and intellectual weight.
The performances are good, but I think often in his films it's quite easy for them to be; actors blend in with the sets - expressive, camp, colourful, cartoonish. Cruz is absolutely astonishingly gorgeous and feisty. Everything seduces and sweeps the viewer along - you get the feeling Almodóvar experiences the same sort of thing when he approaches the work, this feeling of aesthetic seduction... who cares if we flash back here, we do it in such a measured way and with such flair, it becomes nice to watch in itself. Indeed and after all, this is the guy who made the would-be gruesome and morally and psychologically devastating aftermath of murder so visually appealing in Volver.
But such flair in itself is becoming less and less interesting, for me, because there's a fundamental lack of heart. As an attempt at a film with noir-ish aspects, it lacks suspense and drive. He's said it's more of a drama than a melodrama, but it's hysterical and wishy-washy, with little keeping it in check. It actually shows a flippant disregard for originality or realism; this is 'masturbation cinema', 'fantasist cinema', 'escapist cinema', made by someone who wishes to escape.
And am I the only one who's tired of his protagonists being film directors who are obsessed by their art and by a woman? By claims of making 'love hymns to the power of cinema'? (Especially when said hymns are not powerful.) By plots that 'get carried away' with themselves and too obsessed by mirroring their own structure? I get the sense it wishes to be transcendent, when in fact it sets itself no reality to transcend.