Pedro Almodóvar
Amarga Navidad

THE REVIEW

For those who, like me and many others, know the work of Pedro Almodóvar, watching his latest films produces a particular sensation. One appreciates his undeniable directorial mastery, but undoubtedly, as time passes, good old Pedro has become less recognizable. What once positively surprised us in his early movies (shot when Spain was breathing deeply, finally free after the death of the caudillo Franco) was sparkling, ironic, and irreverent towards the old-fashioned Iberian society, but now, with the passing years, has grown more introspective and pensive. Surely, it must be because of age and the influence of our somber times, but his stylistic touch, once marked by a certain Mozartian levitas, now seems much more withdrawn. This does not mean that watching one of his works is now a cause for dissatisfaction, but some questions remain about the Spanish director’s creative state.

In "Amarga Navidad," we follow the vicissitudes of a director named Raul, who for five years has been unable to create a written outline for a film. Resting on his laurels, as his assistant Monica, who is about to take a leave of absence, reproaches him, Raul keeps struggling to complete a screenplay centered around a certain Elsa, herself a director of decidedly experimental works who is also active—just to make ends meet—in advertising. Elsa, in turn, starts writing a piece of fiction, drawing inspiration from the painful and mournful experiences of some friends. One of them, however, does not take kindly to this. Now, with this plot laid out on paper, Raul believes he finally has a sufficient basis to direct a film again. Too bad his assistant Monica reads the script and gets angry, seeing in the plot references to the sorrows and losses suffered by a dear friend. She doesn't hesitate to reproach Raul for this, urging him to abandon this work and return to being the artist so full of inspired brilliance, someone whose eyes once sparkled with the excitement of having found the right cue to create a true masterpiece worthy of expectations.

Without providing any further details, the film presents a simultaneity of narrative planes that intersect, sometimes in a rather tangled way. Of course, Pedro does not disappoint in capturing the viewer’s attention, but the human fauna described here is deeply pained, and the dialectic between reality and fiction is as old as the world itself. What should any artist do? Not draw inspiration from reality? And what should he write about otherwise? As if, just to offer one example among many, Gustave Flaubert had scrupled not to compose "Madame Bovary" because some French woman might have felt called out by the protagonist’s emotional tribulations. It’s well known that "the whole world is a village," and a good novelist knows how to invent names and surnames.

To the above, it must be added that the theme of the artist’s creative crisis is well known in cinema since the days of "8 ½" by Federico Fellini. In Almodóvar’s latest film, the director takes on the features of a bloated Raul, with the air of a bourgeois who has grown lazy, decidedly sedentary in his attempt to compose a half-decent screenplay. It would almost seem that, under such conditions, Almodóvar seeks to urge him to go outside, take a walk, and get some fresh air. Who knows, maybe that would be the effective therapy to overcome creative block.

It is also well known how Fellini overcame the creative crisis so masterfully depicted in "8 ½." I very much hope that Pedro too will be able to turn his career around, once again surprising the international audience of his fans.

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