European Films

La Mancha women scrub the graves of their loved ones on a windswept cemetery in the opening shots of Pedro Almodóvar’s Volver (lit. To Return, Come Back). The continuous strong winds are murmured to drive the locals crazy -- crazy enough to make them believe in the possibility of some of their loved ones returning from the dead. Deceased mother and grandmother Irene (Carmen Maura) is someone who has come back to the village of her birth and her Madrid-dwelling daughters Raimunda (Penélope Cruz) and Soledad (Lola Dueñas), as simply and irrevocably as Almodóvar returns to the female-centred universe of his 1980s and early 90s filmography. His new comedic melodrama however has the same narrative complexity and thematic resonance of his latest two features, the male-driven dramas Hable con ella (Talk to Her) and La mala educación (Bad Education). It plays in Competition at Cannes this year.

Volver’s title is such a perfect fit it does not merit translation; it is a return to Almodóvar’s region of birth, La Mancha, and to his muse of the 1980s Carmen Maura. Like their 1984 collaboration, the hilarious amphetamine comedy ¿Qué he hecho yo para merecer esto!! (What Have I Done to Deserve This?), Volver is about La Mancha women in Madrid, where they try to get by in low-paid jobs, rocky relationships with their spouses and mothers and tight friendships with other women. The more than occasional (and not entirely coincidental) male who ends up dead is also an important part of the plot in both films, and in Volver there is an even clearer urge to depict the women’s dedication to preparing food for all (and using food or kitchen utensils as weapons), caring for the sick and attend to the proper funerary rites of the dead, virtues that are elevated in Volver to the status of the quintessential qualities of womanhood.

The film is slow out of the starting blocks and at first might lead some viewers to believe that Almodóvar is somehow settling for a dramatic comedy in the Álex de la Iglesia-vein. We meet the siblings Raimunda and Soledad as well as Raimunda’s husband Paco (Antonio de la Torre, from El 7° día/The Seventh Day) who seems to be the epitome of a spouse’s nightmare, stealing eyes at young girls and masturbating in bed right next to Raimunda. We also meet her -- though apparently not his -- teenage daughter Paula (Yohana Cobo, also from El 7° día). She is named after Tia or Aunt Paula (Chus Lampreave), the older sister of Raimunda’s mother Irene (Maura, who played Lampreave’s daughter-in-law in ¿Qué he hecho yo para merecer esto!!). Raimunda's sister Sole is divorced and lives alone (though she later takes in a Russian immigrant), while Raimunda and Paula will also form an all-female household after they have sent Paco out into the dead cold alone.

The director wrings the expected humour out of the situation and even some pathos, but pacing and narrative depth only really get going with the appearance of the girls’ dead mother in Madrid (who, in a typical Almodóvar moment, arrives folded in the trunk of her daughter’s car). As the story unfolds further, it becomes clear that the writer-director is in fact presenting a post-modern deconstruction of the Antigone legend (complicated blood relations, the emphasis on proper burial rites), though filtered through the multi-coloured prism of Almodóvar, whose unique brand of feminism sees the traditional characteristics of womanhood not diminished but amplified by an overdose of girlpower. A repeated overhead shot of Cruz washing a large kitchen knife in the sink would feel exploitative if done by any other director, as Cruz’s healthy cleavage and her unwholesome rubbing of the phallic knife are the two key elements here, but in Almodóvar’s hands the small scene becomes an emblem of domestic empowerment. Raimunda is never objectified; she is the subject in control, especially if you consider where the knife has come from.

In many ways, the film represents a more mainstream and accessible -- if still unusually dense -- effort from the La Mancha director, as he forges a tale of family secrets and history, foregoing the morally ambiguous morass of Hable con ella and the autobiographical reflections on his life and art of La mala educación for some good old-fashioned storytelling. The work of cinematographer José Luis Alcaine, who also worked on Educación, is also more subdued, even if sometimes Alcaine just has to make sure that the viewers understand they are watching an Almodóvar, which he accomplishes by inserting the occasional hyper close-up (paper towels soaking up blood) and dense colouring (ruby red blood) that have become Almodóvar trademarks.

Volver is not without faults – its early section meanders because the tone is not properly established straight away and there are a few glitches in the actresses’ dubbing (it looks like the filmmaker has had some late changes of heart regarding the dialogues). Penélope Cruz’s lip-synched rendition of the title song Volver is also distracting; not because of Cruz’s technique or lack of timing but because Estrella Morente, who sings the original, has a distinctively different voice from Cruz. The Spanish actress, who had smaller roles in Almodóvar’s Carne trémula (Live Fresh) and Todo sobre mi Madre (All About My Mother), has in fact never been better or looked lovelier. Just like the Italian actresses who portrayed the neorealist housewives that Raimunda’s character seems to pay homage to, age seems to be a major benefit for Cruz, not an obstacle for both her talent and her looks. With the exception of La mala educación and Hable con ella, the same could be said of Almodóvar (at least when it comes to talent).

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