If there were an Oscar for "best use of
food in a film," Pedro Almodóvar’s "Volver" would surely win. In ‘Volver,’
Penelope Cruz, who has been nominated for an Oscar for best actress,
plays Raimunda, a resilient young mother with no luck but enough
culinary talent to turn adversity into accomplishment. Almodóvar shot
the film, named for the Spanish verb "to return," in his native region
of La Mancha, and in it he revisits the customs and superstitions he
grew up with. The women of his
childhood were obsessed with food and feeding people, Almodóvar has
written. Certainly, there’s a prodigious amount of colourful Spanish,
and particularly Manchegan , fare in "Volver," both as sustenance and
symbol. Almodóvar travels between reality and fantasy, and the film’s
living and dead comfortably co-exist. In the kitchen of her senile aunt,
Raimunda finds jars of newly preserved pork in olive oil and containers
of freshly baked wafers with her name scribbled on them — does she
suspect they were prepared by her own dead mother, come back to nourish
the ailing aunt? Is the apparition trying to communicate with her
daughter through reminders of her cooking?
In one of the most gorgeous images in ‘Volver’,
white blossoms into crimson as a sheet of kitchen towel saturates with
blood. Housework here is murder and a woman’s work is never done – not
after killing, not even after dying. Almodóvar has long been
interested in the varied terrain of ‘women’s troubles’ (as the film’s
funniest line ambiguously describes them), and his sixteenth feature
returns to many of the concerns of his fourth, 1984’s ‘What Have I Done
To Deserve This?’, offering another fable of long-suffering drudgery
overcome by domestic homicide and the whiff of quotidian magic (and
bodily odours). It’s one of several returns to which the title – meaning
‘coming back’ – refers, along with the road from Madrid to ancestral La
Mancha, the irruption of the past into the present and Almodóvar’s
professional reunion with Carmen Maura for the first time since ‘Women
on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown’ (1987).
The story is at once hysterical and mundane,
founded in abuse, rape, murder and corpse disposal yet ultimately about
none of these so much as the endurance of those involved. Penélope Cruz
steps into the pivotal role taken by Maura in ‘What Have I Done…’: her
Raimunda is a working wife and mum holding down several jobs to support
her adolescent daughter Paula (Yohana Cobo). She also makes regular
trips back to her home village with her sister Sole (Lola Dueñas) to
tend their mother’s grave and visit their aged aunt (regular Almodóvar
biddie Chus Lampreave). But when Raimunda’s husband suddenly dies and
Sole starts receiving visitations from their mum (Maura), both have to
learn to live with death and the practical as well as emotional
challenges it brings. Looking back, Almodóvar’s career is extraordinarily
cohesive, a decade-spanning conversation of images and emotions rendered
through ever more sophisticated technique, especially in narrative
terms: as always, he makes room here for jealousy and self-reinvention,
shoes and hospitals, patterns and mirrors, embedded clips of classic
films and pastiches of trash TV, but juxtaposes and frames them with
more delicacy and grace than ever – it’s some achievement that the film
is both funnier and more moving on repeated viewing, when its pervasive
dramatic ironies emerge.
Where the director’s earliest works
alternated tragedy and farce, ‘Volver’ masterfully interpolates them:
the absurd and the affecting rub along with marvellous, deceptive ease,
recalling ‘The Trouble with Harry’ one minute, ‘Babette’s
Feast’ the next. Vintage Magnani and Loren, meanwhile, are
explicitly evoked in Cruz’s bravura performance.The construction of
glamour (another perennial Almodóvar trope) lies at the root of the
original sins blighting this family – sins played out in the mad desert
garden of their home village. Almodóvar is a native of La Mancha himself
and his characters’ return to the social womb has provoked various and
complex emotions in his films. The village here is superstitious and
somewhat alien – a funeral scene yields eerie, segregated scenes of
silent, staring men and a hive of black-clad women awash in the buzz of
prayer and clicking of fans – riven by a tearing wind that supposedly
fuels insanity as well as ravenous fires. (The frequent shots of modern
windmills bring to mind the region’s most famous and delusional scion,
Don Quixote.) That the location proves to be restorative as well as
traumatic is down to the air of sympathetic sisterhood embodied in the
superb ensemble acting (Blanca Portillo is terrific as the sisters’
childhood friend).
More even than ‘All About My Mother’,
this is a world of absentee men and multi-tasking women unfettered by
conventional expectations – including those of the genre narrative
‘Volver’ initially seems to offer. Time and again the expected
development is described rather than shown, or finessed away entirely.
The result is to bind us more closely to the characters than the plot in
a testament to Almodóvar’s ideal – perhaps idealised – vision of female
solidarity. If that kitchen towel shot turned housework into a fight for
life, the gorgeous closing credit sequence makes the mundane miraculous,
as patterns from the characters’ everyday clothes bloom into
screen-filling beauty.
‘I grew
up hearing stories of apparitions
appearing to people,’ writes Almodóvar.
‘I don’t believe in them. Only when they
happen to others, or when they appear in
fiction.’
But surely,
if she could, a mother would come back
to nurture her daughter, particularly if
there is unfinished business between
them. And Raimunda might welcome the
opportunity to thank her mother for
teaching her how to cook. When her
restaurateur neighbor asks the
resourceful Raimunda to look after his
shuttered cafe in his absence, she
seizes the opportunity and unflappably
prepares a three-course lunch for 30,
served to a film crew on a shoot.
Their
only complaint is that the portions
aren’t large enough. Promising that they
will have ‘food coming out their eyes’
after she is hired to cook for the rest
of the shoot, she enlists the help of
her women neighbours — and the very
food they have purchased at the market.
|
Ben Walters/
Beverly Levitt |