Favorite Spanish director Pedro Almodovar tackles extremely difficult material in his film Hable con ella, and I am not positive that it was worth it. Like all of his films this is a sexually charged exploration of what makes people tick, but because of what he chooses to address in this film I am not sure whether enlightened and moved, or offended. Perhaps both; the job of the film maker is to present material and challenge the audiences perception of what is shown, but I cannot accept that what he has chosen is something that would want to be challenged in the first place.
Like all of his scripts, Almodovar's material is a hyper-stylization of the blend of old and new world Spain that he is in contact with. Two men, a journalist and a male nurse, form a precarious relationship with one another, bonded by the fact that the two most important women in their lives are lying in neighboring hospital rooms in deep comas. The first is a matador gored by a bull. The second, a ballerina hit by a car. Both men, lonely and emotionally more unsound then normal men, cling to each other when they have no one else to. When that friendship turns from something driven by necessity to something powered by deep love is unclear, but it happens, and it makes the major surprise of the film all the more disturbing.
Javier Camara gives an outstanding performance as the nurse, Benigno. A man-child with watery eyes and a trustworthy face, Benigno has led a very sheltered life mostly involving the care of his healthy, but lazy mother. After his mother's death Benigno turns his attention to his ballerina patient, Alicia. For four years he has tended to her, massaging, reading, gossiping with her as if she was awake and well. He advises his journalist friend, Marco, to do likewise. But who is that really helping? Benigno is alone in the world except for Alicia, which is pitiable, but strangely charming at the same time. There is a moment where he pulls out bottle of lotion to moisturize her skin and he tells her that it has rosemary in it. It was a special purchase he made for her in order to make her more comfortable, and the loving look in his eyes when he tells her about it is perfection.
As Marco, Dario Grandinetti does a fine job as well. The audience connects with him more because he is sensitive like a woman. Almodovar loves women, and he treats this character as such. In his other films that star men, the director takes a super macho, unpleasant, ultra-feminist point of view that I dislike, and in a way that makes this film stand out as something special of his. Almodovar seems to love sex, and hate himself for loving it at the same time, and therefore most all of his men have ugly personalities. But not Marco. He is sweet and gentle, and after some hesitation he is putting sunglasses on his bull-fighting, comatose girlfriend and sitting her out on the patio.
I found much of this film enchanting, as I usually do with this film makers' visions. The mixture of camp, fine performances, and old school European eccentric touches (like the silent film with the man entering the giant vagina) definitely distinguish this and his other works from those being produced at the same time. Morally, however, I think this film was too much of a challenge for me, and I think that he took too soft an approach on the subject matter. I cannot go more into what this is addressing for it would then negate the point of watching the film, but it is alarming, and makes it hard to trust what it is that the film maker is saying to his audience. Are we supposed to love the characters enough to overlook the actions that they take? Are we supposed to hate one for supporting the other when our consciences scream otherwise? It should not be left up to us to decide, I don't think.
This will be known as an Almodovar staple, but condoning this work and recommending it is hard to do--I really wish it was not.
2.5/4
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