If you haven’t been abroad so far this summer, go and see Pedro Almodóvar’s Volver — it will have almost as invigorating an effect as a weekend in Spain. To see it is to be immersed in a strange and likeable culture, populated by agreeably batty characters whose tale is completely absorbing.
So absorbing, in fact, that when I emerged from the screening I was surprised to find myself fogged in by the dull mash of London greys, and not among a blaze of Spanish colour. When I opened my mouth to speak I was amazed that a torrent of Spanish didn’t issue forth. I was puzzled (and, yes, it must be said, a little disappointed) to glance at my reflection in a shop window and find that I didn’t resemble Penélope Cruz.
Is there a more beautiful woman than Penélope Cruz in cinema? You will find it hard to think of one, after watching Volver. And what a relief to have her return from Hollywood to Almodóvar, and to acting in Spanish rather than English. Volver (which means ‘coming back’) contains many homecomings: Almodóvar has returned to La Mancha, where he comes from, and set part of the film there. Rites and beliefs peculiar to that district — with relation to death and to the afterlife — are integral to the story. And Carmen Maura, an actress with whom Almodóvar has worked in the past, but not for many years, plays one of the leading roles.
The film itself is structured around a return. Two sisters, Sole (Lola Dueñas) and Raimunda (Penélope Cruz), live in Madrid. Sole runs a hairdressing business from her apartment, and Raimunda keeps several jobs in order to support her unemployed husband and her teenage daughter. Sole and Raimunda were brought up in La Mancha (where the wind blows hard enough and consistently enough to drive people mad) and although their parents died in a fire, years before, their old Aunt Paula lives there still. One morning Agustina, a neighbour in La Mancha, telephones Sole to tell her that Paula has died. Sole telephones Raimunda to pass on the news, but Raimunda is a little preoccupied: her daughter has just stabbed her leching husband to death in the kitchen of their home. She has a body to dispose of.
Sole goes to her aunt’s funeral alone. She discovers that the villagers in La Mancha believe that Aunt Paula lived so long because she was looked after by the ghost of Sole’s mother. This is an entirely acceptable view, it seems, but one that Sole is reluctant to believe until she opens the boot of her car, back in Madrid, and finds the ghost of her mother hiding there. This ‘apparition’, which seems entirely real, tells her daughter that she has come back for a purpose. This purpose will reveal itself in time, but until that time Sole must hide her mother’s ghost in her apartment, and not tell anyone who she is. The quick-witted Sole passes her mother’s ghost off as a Russian beggar she has taken pity on and employed as a hair-washer. She is hidden from Raimunda, and Raimunda hides her husband’s murder from Sole. These secrets will out, as they tend to do, but not before everyone is quite prepared.
It is not, fortunately, as whimsical as it sounds — in fact, it is a film in which being practical is celebrated as a kind of grace. Our heroines are admired for their common sense, for their capable (and broad-minded) responses to unusual events. Almodóvar has cultivated remarkable performances from his female cast, all of whom rightly shared the jury prize at Cannes this year for outstanding actress (Almodóvar himself won the best screenplay prize). Their characters are robust but also vulnerable; distinctive yet alike. Penélope Cruz, in particular, is triumphant: fearsome and adorable almost simultaneously. Her performances in English (Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Vanilla Sky) tend to be lacklustre and uncomfortable, but here she is brilliant. She is in her element, and as vital as she was in Live Flesh nine years ago.
What is crucial, for the audience, is to accept the fantastical elements in Volver as they are proposed. Do not allow a pedestrian ‘Why?’ or ‘How?’ to interrupt the telling of the tale. There are incidents which seem outlandish, even preposterous, but to let them spoil the story’s momentum would be foolish — it is a funny and glorious film if you decide to enjoy it.
Volver put me in a good mood for hours afterwards, not just for the ten-minute walk between the cinema and the Tube station: such is the power of Almodóvar’s storytelling. Place, character and narrative are thoroughly and respectfully nurtured until they amount to a complete experience which engages, diverts and captivates the audience.
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