Pain and Glory

A filmmaker (Antonio Banderas) deals with physical and mental ailments as he approaches old age, settling in to a sad kind of torpor as he reflects on life. People have come and gone and the real pain here seems to be quiet melancholy of regret, his body's (significant) issues notwithstanding. The film meanders a bit and suffers at times with pacing, but through his reflections and flashbacks, it tells a touching story about coming to peace with those we've known in life.

There's the filmmaker's mother (Penélope Cruz), who sent him to a seminary for most of his schooling because she had no money for a secular education, which led to him not learning much. In old age she dies alone in a hospital instead of in her home village, where he had promised to take her. (Oddly, the actor playing the elderly mother, Julieta Serrano, has blue eyes whereas Cruz's are brown, which was a little jarring to me). These are the things that swirl around in his mind as he still grieves over losing her.

There is also the actor from one of his popular films (Asier Etxeandia), who he had a falling out with decades ago, but who he reconnects with and is then introduced to heroin by. He casually tries it and then alarmingly we see him quickly hooked, which makes for what seemed like one of the longer subplots, which I wasn't all that interested in. There is an old lover who surfaces (Leonardo Sbaraglia), a man who disappeared out of his life and is now married with children, and the scene the two share is full of authenticity and warmth. He also recalls a time in childhood when he tutored a handyman for payment of services to his mother, and felt the first flush of desire when he saw him bathing.

I think Almodóvar was wise to draw a line at this last character not physically meeting him decades later, as it gave the film realism and a wistful bit of sentimentality. True to form, he also gives the viewer an explosion of primary colors, and there is certainly a lot of beauty on the screen. That kitchen, especially with its bold red cabinets, made me wonder if such a space would be too loud to live in, but later I read that it was modeled on Almodóvar's own home. I also loved the little touch of the Cruz's character and her friends breaking in to a light song while washing their clothes in the river. Nothing "big" happens here, but in its quiet way, it reflects the director, and his pain and glory in life.