Cannes diary part four: Almodóvar returns

Geoff Andrew reviews 'Volver', the new film from Pedro Almodóvar.

May 19 2006

Eagerly anticipated by anyone who’d heard or read reports emanating from Spain since the film's very successful release there, Pedro Almodóvar's 'Volver' proved to be the first unquestionable triumph of this year's Cannes. Not that other films haven't already been warmly received; since this writer's first report, things have certainly taken a turn for the better.

'Ten Canoes', for example, by Rolf de Heer, is certainly far more rewarding than the films with which the Australian first found acclaim a decade or so ago. Whereas 'Bad Boy Bubby' and its immediate successors were noted for a somewhat in-yer-face style, 'Ten Canoes' is an altogether gentler, more relaxed affair.

Narrated by an unseen Aboriginal who first tells the story of his own creation, then that of his ancestors, and then, within that story, yet another one involving even more ancient ancestors at the very start of time, the movie is a visually lyrical account not only of the everyday traditions and mores of Australia's indigenous peoples, but of their marvellously curious, leisurely attitude to the art of storytelling itself. Funny, touching, deliciously ironic and sincerely felt all at the same time, it's a real winner for anyone who has the kind of patience frequently recommended as one of life's requisites by various characters in the film.

Another modest but rewarding movie – also in the Un Certain Regard strand – was Denis Dercourt's 'La Tourneuse de Pages'. A beautifully judged, teasingly ambiguous suspense drama in the Hitchcock or early Chabrol mould, it begins with a butcher's pianist daughter messing up an audition to get into a music academy after she's distracted by one of the examiners signing an autograph during her performance; it might seem a small slight to the perpetrator, but the victim is so deeply affected by the dashing of her plans that years later, when in her late teens, she somehow contrives to get herself a job as governess to the son of the concert pianist who unwittingly changed the girl's life.

Pretty soon it's clear to us, and indeed to the pianist (who's entirely forgotten about the audition), that the girl has something on her mind – but whether it's revenge, a crush, or simply a desire to bathe in the pianist's reflected glory remains compellingly unclear. Catherine Frot gives a typically fine performance as the musician torn between trust and wariness in her response to the governess she comes to depend on as her page-turner, but in the end, this cool, elegant thriller goes to the wonderfully subtle, mysterious playing of the title role by young Déborah François, completely unrecognisable here as the same girl who made her debut in the Dardenne brothers' 'L'Enfant'. In just two films, she's proving herself a very promising actress indeed.

But enough suspense: you're no doubt waiting to hear more about the Almodóvar. In which case, there's actually more suspense, because 'Volver' – a dazzlingly assured blend of comedy and serious psychological drama – is in some respects a ghost story.

The plot is so sophisticated in its complexity that it defies proper synopsis here; suffice to say a radiant Penélope Cruz takes the lead as the hard-working housewife and mother who finds herself lumbered not only with troubling debts but with a murdered husband, a daughter going through those difficult teenage years, and a slightly neurotic sister who, unbeknown to Cruz, believes their mother, who perished in a fire four years earlier in her husband's arms, has returned from the dead. And maybe she has, since Carmen Maura – for it is she, making her first film with Almodóvar since 'Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown' – soon turns up in the trunk of the sister's car, insisting she stay in her house, concealed under the bed whenever Cruz and her daughter pay a visit…

If all this sounds rather farcical, nothing could be further from the truth. The comedy here is firmly grounded in the observation of character and social custom, from the opening tableau of dozens of widows in a cemetery dusting and polishing their dear departed's tombs, to the affectionate snipes made between siblings all too aware that their parents viewed and treated them rather differently.

For an hour it all flits along with brilliant if seemingly featherweight ease, until Cruz suddenly realises her daughter has never once heard her sing and launches into the song that gives the movie its title, at which point the movie suddenly shifts into an altogether different register and you discover that this tale of various ghosts finally being exorcised through belated curiosity and communication is far more resonant and relevant than any mere horror movie, spoof or otherwise.

By the time it's ended, it becomes clear that during that first hour, Pedro was in fact very carefully putting all the elements into place for a majestic tribute to women's cunning, courage and capacity for love that is as cathartic as anything he's done. And, of course, just as enjoyable.

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