Mateo Blanco, the fictitious, sightless filmmaker who is both the ostensible hero of Pedro Almodóvar’s 17th feature film, “Broken Embraces,” and a highly refracted alter ego of Almodóvar himself, runs his career by one golden principle: “no sequels, remakes or biopics.”
This statement, hammered home to Blanco (Lluis Homar) by his long-serving agent Judit (Blanca Portillo), could be read as a cheeky allusion to Almodóvar’s own directorial philosophy. Arguably the most defiantly trademarked of all contemporary arthouse auteurs – even the casual cinephile can identify un film de Almodóvar by its palette alone – he is nonetheless surprisingly resistant to repetition.
As tempting as it may be for some to color his oeuvre with the same brush, there’s less common aesthetic ground between the jagged raunch of a “Kika,” the elegant humanism of a “Talk to Her,” or the icy genre play of a “Live Flesh,” than meets the eye, skewed black humor and extravagant visuals notwithstanding.
It’s not a case of phasal development either: the remarkable creative hot streak of his last five films saw him trying on a range of tonal and structural guises, unexpectedly becoming this generation’s crossover arthouse teddy-bear in the process.
Breathe, my fellow Almodovar devotees — the first reviews for “Broken Embraces” are in. While they’re not unqualified raves, it would appear that the master has pushed himself into new and challenging tonal and thematic territory, and the critics are duly appreciative.
I’m sure many of you by now have seen the gorgeous European poster artwork for Pedro Almodóvar’s upcoming “Broken Embraces,” in all its lurid Warholian variations. (If you haven’t, Nat Rogers has the lot
Having been a film critic for more than a quarter of a century now (my God) and a film junkie for more than 40 years, I have never gotten over the joy of surprise when an actor or actress comes out of left field with a performance of such brilliance it eliminates every single bad performance or bad film they have ever been associated with.