In the last decade, Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almod-var has risen to a level of mastery seldom rivaled, creating films that are deeply subtle though often vibrantly and violently expressive -- films that churn with emotive force and rich complexity. In 2004's La Mala Educati-n (Bad Education), Almod-var returns to the darker or at the very least, morally ambiguous world in which he thrives, filming characters as cryptic and veiled as 1986's Matador, with the sensitivity and love of 2002's Hable con Ella (Talk to Her).
In his latest movie, Almod-var revisits the noir genre, folding his drama in mystery, both physical and sexual, clothing his stories in framed narration, and drawing the viewer into suspended belief, or as it were, disbelief.
La Mala Educati-n tells the story of two boyhood friends, separated in their youth by an abusive and tyrannical priest, who are reunited in adulthood. But like most Almod-var films, what begins in simplicity will be augmented and contorted until it is anything but. The result is played out by the brilliant Gael Garc'a Bernal (Motorcycle Diaries, Y Tu Mam?? Tambi??n, Amores Perros) as ??ngel, an aspiring actor hoping to find direction and work from his friend, Enrique Goded, a young director still fresh from making his mark in Spain's underground cinema (played by Fele Mart'nez, best known for Hable con Ella.
Initially ??ngel fails to entice Enrique, who is uneasy and unsure of a man he has not seen so long, but a screenplay which ??ngel has written based on their mutual childhood memories and entitled, "The Visit," draws Enrique in and captures his imagination. From here the movie plays skips in and out of different time frames: the 1960s of the boys' childhood, the 70s of the fictitious screenplay universe, and the 80s in which the two are reunited, allowing the threaded narratives to weave together, making the individual stories much more intriguing.
The movie is bold and operatic. It moves seamlessly through frames of stories told, and mistold, lies and truths, costumes and costumed reality. Bernal is comfortable in this reality and unbelievably malleable in his prowess as an actor--he delivers one of the best performances of 2004, as not one character, but three. Adopting a role (in which we may have imagined a young Antonio Banderas), he expertly juggles not only the character ??ngel, but appears as Zahara, a cross-dressing cabaret singer who lives in the literary realm of ??ngel's screenplay, and yet another character, Juan. He is at one and the same time sly and sensual, erotic and homoerotic, flirtatious and absurd.
Opposite him, Mart'nez plays Enrique equally well; he is quiet and suspicious, driven and painfully loving, affected and emotional. It is through his quiet eyes, his haunting addiction to beauty, coupled with the pain and suffering inherent in life, and his destitution that we are drawn into the movie -- that we, like Enrique are seduced.
Perhaps Almod-var's greatest gift is his ability to make movies like symphonies in which harmonies and dissonance collide, themes are picked up and toyed with, variations played upon, and the whole booming force of the thing is almost awe inspiring. The cinematography in the film was dazzling, and is Almod-var at his best; the scenes of the catholic boys school, vacations to the country, and the charming and sometimes dark world of Spain prove work together and fit in such elegance, that they are almost surreal.
The music, hypnotic and deliriously depressing, often deafening the plot action or in some senses, even creating is perfect; it creates scenes out of acts, and makes what is simply interesting on screen cinematic. It has the touch of silent cinema, as if the music exists completely separately from the movie, has its own themes, crescendos and decrescendos which sometimes parallel, play off of, and compliment the movie.
In short, this is perhaps one of the best films to come out in 2004, and one of Almod??var's towering achievements.
