Carne Trêmula

Spain, more than most nations, has to deal with its ghosts. The Franco years were a time of enforced stasis, a period when no creativity was allowed to thrive, and progress of any kind was suppressed ruthlessly. A false mentality was imposed on the nation, a communal fantasy looking back in time to a supposedly innocent 'golden age'. Spaniards were forced to see themselves and their culture in terms of Carmens and castanets, fans and fandangos. A people was frozen in time for forty years, and fed on a diet of synthetic movies and novels which summoned up a sexless, crime-free rural idyll, Franco's concept of nationhood. While the West had the Rolling Stones, Spain had troubadors in sombreros. The galloping modernity which has transformed Spanish society in a single generation has given the young adults of today an interesting 'window' on history. While the West has moved smoothly from Sinatra to Sid Vicious, from Marilyn Munroe to Marilyn Manson, Spain has a deep chasm between today and yesterday. Almodovar is intensely concerned with this gap, and his films serve two functions in respect of it. They analyse the social forces which created it (and were spawned by it), and they help Spain to bridge the barranco. It is time now for Spain to move on. When Elena meets Victor for one final date, the purpose of the sexual coupling is to wipe out the guilt which clings to their shared past.

New and Old clash on every street corner. We hear a soundtrack of anodyne 'traditional' songs overlaid on scenes of black immigrants doing drug deals. Sancho is a model of old-fashioned manhood who tries, but fails, to castrate the New Man, Victor. The house left to Victor by his mother is out in the northern satellits township of Ventilla, a working-class ghetto of high-rise tenements, Franco's already-rotting 'solution' to Spain's social problems.

Cinematically, "Carne Tremula" is second only to "Todo Sobre Mi Madre" as an example of Almodovar's assured command of the film-maker's craft. Transitions are especially well-done. A bus door opens and we see, through the cab, Victor standing, waiting to board. This is the portal of movement opening for Victor, the boy with the gift of lifetime freedom of the buses (symbolically, the 'new' Spaniard, born to a life of movement). Clara remembers her first sexual intercourse, and looks at a photo of herself in First Communion dress. Both events were first communions, both were rites of passage, abandoning the childhood phase. Almodovar moves the action forward from 1980's Madrid to Barcelona in the Olympic Year (1992) by showing the olympic logo on the cycle track, viewed from overhead, as the cyclists cross it. To end Victor's prison sequence, a bus (always his symbol) passes right to left, 'wiping' the prison and revealing the free man. Sancho the housebound husband is re-introduced with power and economy when Clara crosses her own 'welcome' mat to be greeted by him. Fire, earth, ice and water are used as 'gates' in the narrative, marking new beginnings (for example, Clara's frying-pan catches fire because Victor distracts her by announcing the end of the affair). Isabel's waters break on the bus, and we see men in water at moments of 're-birth' (David in the bath, newly secure in the permanence of Elena's love).

Stalking is a strong theme, Almodovar inverting and perverting the idea of sexual arousal and pursuit. Voyeurism can be innocent and healthy (young Victor watching Elena in her apartment) but becomes sick when the watcher is impotent and jealous (David filming the Victor-Clara couplings). Victor pursues Elena, even wearing a wolf's head in order to close in on her.

Clara is the woman with no sense of direction, whose emotional life is arid. She depends on but does not love the useless Sancho. She loves but cannot possess the sexually potent Victor. The mutual gunning-down of Clara and Sancho is pre-ordained, both in the earlier attempt, and in the shooting by which Sancho launched the narrative.

Elena, like many young bourgeois adults, had a heroin phase in her teen years, but has put that behind her and leads a useful and caring life. However, character is fate. She cannot escape the consequences of her sexual union with Victor. The 'final date' is the powerful climax of the film, the fatal destiny to which all of these characters are tending. It speaks volumes of Almodovar's talent that his highly-improbable last reel, with all of the central characters converging on one spot, is entirely believable.

In a film predicated on contradictions, David is contradiction personified. The sporting champion with no life in his penis, the good man who cuckolded his friend and partner, the hero of the stand-off in the apartment who becomes the raging jealous spectator on the sidelines, David is both admirable and despicable. His obsession with basketball is psychologically neat - a sublimation of his damaged machismo - and also a devastating revelation. The wheelchairs swoop around the court in a Busby Berkley parody of athleticism, and the ball pops into the basket in clever mimicry of the coitus for which this is David's substitute.

And Victor? He is the picaro, the innocent who is always on the move, never comprehending the forces acting upon him, yet never defeated by those forces. His 'life on wheels' is the true life, in contrast with David's sterile life-in-death on wheels. Victor, alone of all the characters, grows because of his suffering. Franco's Spain was static, but Victor has broken free of that prison, and is dynamic. He moves. Thus is he the true victor.

If you intend to see such a film, I warn you that you should not miss any scene if you really want to understand its intelligently arranged plot. Sometimes I see Almodovar as a kind of Victor Hugo of cinema because he makes various complicated scenes not coherently inserted in the film that you should put in order step by step. May be in this way the excitement increases and you will be more anxious to know the end of the film. Javier Bardem (David) played the role of ex-agent and ex-basketball player who was shot in fact accidentally. The Italian actress Francesca Neri is David's wife, and young Liberto Rabal is Victor, the man supposedly spoiling the lives of others, and strong lover. Love and sex scenes of the film are intense as if they were real. The behavior of the actors and actresses in the film is convincingly human, i.e. people having their merits and shortcomings in their lives, there is no fictitious models of behavior. Almodovar, as usual, tries to reflect the reality. There are many good dramas in cinema but this one is probably one of the best.

This Pedro Almodovar movie was the second film – after The Flower of My Secret – where he toned things down and went for a more serious approach. Having said that, it's still very much a melodrama. Its story is simultaneously simple and complex. It basically is about how one gunshot changes the lives of five people. It starts out appearing one way but as we get to know the participants we discover their differing motivations on that fateful night. Everyone seems to be suffering because of the actions of another. Every character is a shade of grey, no one is innocent and the film is about guilt and redemption as much as anything. Once you think back on the story you only then realise how complex a web of deceit and betrayal has been woven by all of the participants. Some have also mentioned that it is an allegorical story about Spain's recent history. While there is an interesting opening segment set in 1970 in Franco's regime, I honestly couldn't tell you what the allegory actually is. Maybe it's a cultural thing or perhaps I'm just too dumb to have noticed. But regardless of this, Live Flesh can easily be appreciated without this.

Almodovar has always been the king of kitsch, the naughty, the pervert (who isn't anyway?), the generator of endless dirty language conversations, the good the bad and the ugly of the movie world. Well, he seems to have grown mature, but not tamed in that sense. He probably will be strongly criticized for the oral sex scene, on grounds that he is abusing disabled individuals, just like he was almost damned by feminists because of the looong rape scene in Kika. Well, although he seems to have moved away from his bright colors and chaotic chasing sequences, and although Live Flesh is to the best of my knowledge the first movie where he openly praises the post-Franco era, it was as tasteful as its predecessors. And who can build up such a web of events and relations better than Almodovar does, anyway?

This film opens in Franco's Spain in the 1970s as baby Victor is born on a bus. Twenty years later Spain is a different country but Victor's life isn't great and it is about to get worse. A week after his first sexual encounter he believes he is now in a relationship; unfortunately the woman, Elena, feels differently; when he goes to see her she tells him to leave and threatens him with a gun. It goes off and the police are called. Officers David de Paz and his partner, Sancho, turn up and the situation escalates; David is shot and crippled; Victor is sent to Jail.

While Victor serves his time his mother dies and he learns that David has married Elena; he blames them for his suffering so decides to get revenge. Once out he has a chance meeting with Elena in a cemetery. While there he also meets Clara, the wife of David's partner; they are soon having an affair which David learns about. Victor is still interested in Elena and tries to get closer to her; David is understandably furious... it looks as though things will quickly get dangerous.

This film is typical of Pablo Almodóvar; fans should enjoy it. They are the usual slightly exaggerated, but still believable, characters who live soap-opera lives. Each of the characters has their flaws but they are still mostly likeable. The story provides plenty of really tense moments as well as a number of sexy scenes. The latter don't feel forced as they are intrinsic to the story. The story is intimate with few extraneous characters. There is a wit to the story with plenty of amusing moments; again these feel entirely natural. The cast does a fine job; most notably Liberto Rabal, as Victor; Javier Bardem, David; Francesca Neri, as Elena and Angela Molina as Clara; each make their characters feel like real people. Overall I'd definitely recommend this to fans of other Almodóvar films or people wanting a grown up drama featuring interesting but believable characters.

These comments are based on watching the film in Spanish with English subtitles.