Reflections of Almodovar’s life

If he had been director John Ford, Pedro Almodovar says, he would have had John Wayne cry in “The Searchers.” Grown men -- even cowboys who strut -- should cry, the Spanish director contends. It may be embarrassing, but releasing tears provides a certain catharsis, he says.

There are tears aplenty in “Talk to Her,” his latest movie, which offers a revealing glimpse into a somewhat more restrained, pensive, mature Almodovar -- a side he says was once repressed by his wilder, more baroque alter ego.

“It’s the most intimate film I’ve done,” he said in an interview in Los Angeles. “I show really sentimental men, and it’s something that has to do with me directly. It embarrasses me to talk about it, actually. I show things about myself in this movie that I have never shown before.”

Mainly, the film is about the comfort of words in combating loneliness, sickness and madness. It is also unabashedly about men who cry. This may seem a departure for a man more frequently associated with films distinguished by surreal flourishes, eccentric characters in colorful settings and outrageous behavior -- and it is.

What Almodovar has also been known for, however, is his perspective on women in and out of relationships and his direction of female actors. That talent is on full display in “Talk to Her,” as are his characteristic visual flair and subversively witty jabs at the media. But the focus has shifted, ever so subtly, to men.

Starring Javier Camara, Dario Grandinetti, Leonor Watling, Rosario Flores and Geraldine Chaplin, the film is a complex web of stories involving two couples. All the characters seem confined to a terrible loneliness (the film originally was going to be titled “Solitude, I Suppose”) until they manage to find each other. The men are emotionally crippled, but they eventually find contentment by talking to the women in their lives.

And here lies one typically Almodovarian quirk -- the men’s so-called partners are in a comatose state, with their sides of the story revealed in flashbacks. And the manner in which one character shows his love is -- without giving anything away -- deranged. The women offer the men comfort and give their lives meaning without speaking one word, at least in the present.

Almodovar said the seed for this story was planted when he saw a photo of the great Spanish novelist and dadaist Ramon Gomez de la Serna sitting on a comfortable couch with his “partner” -- a mannequin that was bejeweled, dressed to the nines and that would “receive” guests at home at the writer’s side. That image, and the famous Chilean Pablo Neruda’s “Poem 15,” which loosely translated reads: “I like you when you are silent because you seem to be absent,” served as inspirations. Their essence is of a woman with such a powerful presence that she does not need to talk to make an impression.

Although some might see this as a commentary on sexual politics, that was not Almodovar’s intent. His interpretation is much more poetic. The film goes out of its way to be nonjudgmental -- even though his characters are deeply flawed, even psychologically damaged.

He went so far as to only allude to a disturbing scene between one man and his comatose partner in a silent movie within the film.

He could not bring himself to portray the act in question, he says. “I couldn’t watch it happen,” Almodovar said while drinking herbal tea in his bungalow at a Los Angeles hotel. “It’s like when you have a terrific friendship with someone and you don’t want to talk about their bad side. I have a very good relationship with the character.”

Although his work is as sensitively and acutely observant as ever, it seems that the 51-year-old director has come to a personal and career crossroads. Winning an Oscar two years ago for “All About My Mother” had a strange effect.

Rather than going for the big-budget Hollywood movies dangled before him, he retreated into what felt familiar.

“Instead of becoming more ambitious, I have become more restrained and reflective,” he said. “I decided I was going to do the opposite of ‘All About My Mother.’ I was afraid that with that movie’s success, ‘Talk to Her’ would suffer from comparisons. Fortunately, this movie ... is so different it is not seen in competition.”

The death of his own mother a few months after the release of “All About My Mother” also brought some gravity into his life that influenced “Talk to Her.” The film is also a reflection of the director’s continuing need to redefine and challenge himself.

“I need to explore new things,” he said. “I’m saturated with the Almodovar of 10 years ago.”

Today’s Almodovar is older, and physically a little heavier, although he admittedly is still gregarious and a lover of life.

But on this cloudy October day, clad in black, Almodovar shows signs of weariness. He has been plugging his film for the last week in the United States and has been worn down by the flu. He also is recording a narration for the film’s DVD release. When he emerges after two hours of talking to a microphone in an editing suite, he is perspiring and has bags under his eyes. He confides that he is claustrophobic and hates the enclosure of the sound room. He also is wary of the press and would rather never be photographed.

While recording the DVD narration, he pokes fun at the “tele-basura” (tele-trash) dominating the airwaves in Spain, which he has skewered in a few scenes in the movie. He also takes a swipe at the paparazzi. In one scene, a photographer intrudes to grab a shot of one of the characters in an extremely intimate moment -- she is near death after being gored by a bull.

“Something more brutal than the bull -- the camera -- grabs her in her most mortal moment,” he said as he was recording material for the DVD. But this comment is also a reflection of his own continuing struggle with faith, with God and the trauma of growing up with a strict Catholic education.

“I have problems with faith,” he said. “Suddenly, God can send you a bull that rips you in half and throws you in the hospital.” This sense of mortality and fate were common threads in both “All About My Mother” and “Talk to Her.”

His films are also distinguished for their repertoire of Spanish actresses, including Carmen Maura, Veronica Forque, Marisa Paredes, Victoria Abril, Cecilia Roth and Penelope Cruz, but the principal cast of “Talk to Her” had never appeared in an Almodovar film. And the main love story involves two men whose bond is emotional and spiritual, but not physical.

While moments of levity liberally punctuate “Talk to Her,” it is by far his most serious work.

At premieres in Europe, many in the audience -- including journalists -- were left speechless by the film’s multilayered emotionality. French actress Jeanne Moreau said to Chaplin at the Paris premiere that she could not make it to the after-party because the film had left her in a reflective, solitary mood.

“She told me she had to go home and think about the film,” Chaplin said.

Almodovar said he loves to hear this reaction. “I don’t gain pleasure in having the person be catatonic and unable to speak afterwards,” he said, but to him their silence indicates something deep occurred. “It means that the movie has a big impact on the person’s spirit.”

Even though he is more introspective nowadays, he is no less mischievous. He delights in dropping zingers -- full of wry commentary -- into his films. He also sports two perfectly colored shocks of white hair that, from a distance, look like horns, protruding from his thick, black hair.

He promises his next film, “La Mala Educacion” (A Bad Education), will be tough on the church and very anticlerical, a reaction to his upbringing. “I remember that time in my life as a nightmare. It was one of the darkest periods.”

Still, there is such an abiding spirituality in “Talk to Her,” it is hard to believe the Catholic influence doesn’t remain in him. Although “Talk to Her” addresses serious issues such as death, illness and psychosis, it is not a downbeat story. The movie concludes on a note of hope and forgiveness -- one that reflects Almodovar’s beliefs about life.

Always looking forward, he is a restless spirit who takes no comfort in the past. Maybe, he says, in the twilight of his years, he will be able to reflect on what has been.

“I am afraid that this unease with enjoying what I have done in the past -- which is part of my character -- will keep me from enjoying what I have accomplished,” he said.

“The real moment of my maturation will come when I can look behind me and feel like what I have done can keep me company, build my memories and give me pleasure.”