How cool is it to wake up on Christmas and find an Almodóvar movie under the tree? Or playing at the Angelika, at any rate.
Broken Embraces is the great Spaniard’s first film since 2006’s Volver, which was a perfectly fine entertainment. It marked the first time Penélope Cruz had a film placed on her strong shoulders and was asked to carry it, and she responded with a performance that included earth-mother sensuality—a Mediterranean earth mother, at any rate—and street-wise toughness. She was unapologetically a tough broad.
Almodóvar has pushed her in a different direction this time. She’s still dangerously desirable. But now the danger extends to herself, not just to the brutish men who are drawn to her. That’s because her Lena is also heartbreakingly vulnerable, a tragic heroine from a Douglas Sirk-style melodrama.
That melodrama forms one of the narrative boxes, or stories-within-stories, that Almodóvar plays with here. I’ve put off talking about the way he tells his story for this long because a) I’d need lots of space—and skill—to do it justice and b) I’m very afraid of making Broken Embraces sound like homework. Believe me, it’s not. The story’s complicated, but Almodóvar has become such a master of framing, and of narrative in general, that he’s able to make the viewer respond to his puzzles emotionally rather than intellectually.
The story begins in the apartment of a blind screenwriter who works (and lives) under the pseudonym of Harry Caine (Lluís Homar). Under his real name, Mateo Blanco, he had once been a top director, but a car accident blinded him 14 years before. Now he has to work in words rather than images. He gets a mysterious visit from a young man who wants to make a movie about how his cruel and powerful father ruined his life. He sees the movie as his revenge.
By his voice, Caine recognizes the young man as the son of his mortal enemy. This encounter triggers what you’d technically have to call a flashback, but that term is so woefully inadequate for the movie-within-a-movie that transpires, which is in fact the emotional heart of the movie. Cruz’ Lena was the cruel man’s mistress. Suffocating under his control and his riches, Lena decides to give acting a try. When the director, Blanco, falls in love with her during her audition, a battle for her heart and body begins between the director and the rich industrialist, who counts Lena as his most prized possession.
At the same time, there’s a battle within Lena for her own soul.
The rich man fights dirty. When Lena and Blanco disappear together, the rich man takes his revenge—on the film that they had been making together. He’d produced it himself, as favor to Lena, and after they’re gone he releases it in mutilated form.
Blanco ultimately loses Lena (I can’t tell you how, but it’s wrenching), along with his sight. Now, 14 years later, he can only begin to heal the past by reediting his adulterated film. And the fact that he can’t see is more a challenge than a curse.
Longtime Almodóvar watchers will recognize the compromised film as a retelling of Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. This strange “remake” is both funny and sad. The scenes we see are quite amusing, but they also make us aware of how much time has passed for Almodóvar and for us. (The effect is oddly similar to seeing the Seinfeld “reunion show” on Curb Your Enthusiasm.)
Almodóvar has now turned to memory for inspiration. But he’s not nostalgic, strictly speaking. He’s still exploring, but no longer groping. He’s into the second or third draft of his ongoing masterpiece, which I’d have to count as the great film achievement of the last 30 years.
The film isn’t perfect. He now tries to cram so much story into each film that some elements get a line or two of expository dialogue, rather than the subplot they truly deserve. He seriously damaged the ending of Volver by doing just that. But when this film finally wobbles under its own narrative weight, Almodóvar rights it brilliantly, giving us a final image of ravishing melancholy.
In the relatively risk-averse world that is modern Hollywood, getting an original story is a rarity. The vast majority of potentially blockbuster movies these days are ones that have a connection to some kind of existing intellectual property that already has a well-established track record. So anytime something interesting arrives that’s not a sequel/reboot/remake/commercial for a product, it deserves to be celebrated.
And that goes double when it’s done as well as the new sci-fi film, The Creator. The film is set in a post-apocalyptic world in 2065, 30 years after a sentient artificial intelligence detonated a nuclear bomb in Los Angeles. Joshua (John David Washington) is an American soldier who for years worked undercover alongside A.I.-enhanced robots, many of which are fitted with clones of human faces, to try to find their reclusive leader, Nirmata, in a part of the world now called New Asia.
A personal tragedy sends him into exile, but he’s recruited back into service by Colonel Howell (Allison Janney) to seek out and destroy a weapon that may turn the tide in the war for good. Turns out the weapon is a robot in the form of a child (Madeleine Yuna Voyles), and when Joshua discovers that fact, he finds it impossible to carry out the mission. Instead, he does everything he can to protect the girl he calls Alphie, with the military hot on his tail all the while.
Written and directed by Gareth Edwards (Rogue One) and co-written by Chris Weitz, the film is astonishing in a number of ways, but mostly for its ability to draw the viewer in visually. The CGI is amazingly believable, making it easy to immerse yourself in the storytelling. From a foreboding super-weapon in the sky called NOMAD to the futuristic landscapes to the whirring metal cylinders that appear to be the brains of the robots, the film is full of fantastic details that make it a feast for the eyes.
The concept of A.I. is increasingly being used as a storytelling tool, and here the filmmakers seem to try to play both sides of the fence. Many people in the film fear its capabilities, especially given the nuclear event. But by literally putting human faces on many of the robots, it becomes more difficult to see them as pure evil, a dilemma that’s at the core of the problem for both Joshua and the audience.
Washington, who’s fast becoming as reliably good as his father, Denzel, is the star of the film, and he does a great job in that role. But stealing the show every second she’s on screen is Voyles, who delivers a debut performance the likes of which hasn’t been seen in many years. She is utterly convincing and heartbreaking as Alphie; while the story may have worked with a lesser actor, she helps take it to completely different level.
Also putting in great work are Janney, who proves herself as badass and fearsome a military leader as any man; Mark Menchaca as her No. 2; Ken Watanabe as an A.I. robot; singer-turned-actor Sturgill Simpson as a friend of Joshua; and Gemma Chan, redeeming herself after the misfire of Eternals.
John David Washington in The Creator.
The Creator could’ve earned praise simply by giving us an original sci-fi story. But by accompanying it with awe-inspiring imagery and performances that elevate the story immeasurably, Edwards and his team have made a film that will likely be remembered for years to come.
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The Creator opens in theaters on September 29.