VOLVER, Pedro Almodovar, 2006. Subtitled. Cert 15

Penelope Cruz stars as Raimunda in this touching, funny drama with elements of the thriller. She has something of Sophia Loren about her; she is always watchable, her huge dark eyes glisten with tears and her smile is riveting. The film opens with a visit to her demented aunt and Cruz plays the lynchpin of a family of women, worried for Aunt Paula, concerned for her anxious sister Sole, and is mother to 14 year old Paula. She plays a strong character, yet teeters about in the tightest skirts imaginable, low cut tops and impossibly high heels. Raimunda's husband is an unappealing slob but he doesn't distract from the female-centred drama for long.

Raimunda works as a cleaner and the family are poor. An unexpected opportunity occurs for her to make some money by re-opening a closed restaurant, next door to her apartment, for a month to cater for a film crew working nearby. This brings in outsiders to the small village, adds life and colour to the film, and prevents the claustrophobia which could stifle an otherwise incestuous parochial story.

The sisters' dead mother re-appears to Sole to clear up unfinished family business. Secrets are unravelled and the maternal and sibling bonds are all strengthened in this unusual story. The circularity is a delight, when the final truths are all spoken, Almodovar provides a neat but plausible finish to the drama. The men in the family come out badly.

Comments

OLD JOY. Dir Kelly Reichardt. 2005

Dropout Kurt arrives in town and calls up his old friend, earnest father-to-be Mark to suggest a camping trip out in the forest, away from the city. They haven’t seen each other for some time and the film suggests a desire for intimacy as well as a quest for peace. Something of a lost soul, Kurt is emotional and, at times, to be pitied. He lives outside society, in a world of new age type retreats and travels, which seem to have left him out on the margins. In contrast, Mark has a home and a pregnant partner, and tunes his car radio in to phone-ins with much loud chat about the state of society in America but he seems only half alive. They drive out of town, with the camera as passenger, which gazes out of the car window while a gorgeous soundtrack by Yo La Tengo sets a mellow mood. The use of extended silence makes me a little uneasy; it’s hard to get away from memories of Deliverance, and a sense of apprehension. In the city, the glass of the car windows insulates us...

Ralph McTell, Truro, 19 April 2007

Ralph's mates from Pentewan have all turned up in a mini bus to hear him sing and play, and he walks onto the stage looking comfortable; he's amongst friends. He's a big man; very charismatic, with a warm smile and a beguiling aura of powerful gentleness. He's relaxed, we're relaxed, and he sits with his guitar, chatting easily between songs, and playing with an easy familiarity with us, and with his material. His guitar playing is intricate and playful; going from ragtime to blues to folk, and his voice is deep and rich. He comments that he's put together quite a serious programme for the two hours he's on stage; it's true that the lyrics are thoughtful and the subjects serious, but there is light material too; a tune about Laurel and Hardy, and one or two covers of old blues numbers. When he sings Streets of London there are happy sighs and the audience sing along very softly; as softly as a whisper. It feels as intimate as if we were just a few people...

Use and Abuse

Sitting outside in the evening sun with ice chinking in my gin and tonic, our chatter is interrupted by the mildly irritating, feeble piping of a child’s recorder. Five or so minutes later a little boy, aged about seven, is planted by the entrance door to the theatre, and carries on blowing down the damned thing. A woman folds a towel and places it by his feet. The boy’s little sister is placed alongside her brother; she’s about five. The woman walks up and down the piazza with a mobile phone clamped to her ear, talking incessantly. Sometimes she comes and sits with a man but they do not go near the two children. The children are pale; they look miserable, and keep going over to the man and woman, but are brought back to the theatre door. It is not obvious the first time he does it, but the man makes a flamboyant gesture of bending forward, dropping coins onto the folded towel, giving a thumbs up sign to the little boy, smiling broadly and then walking away. He seemed to be a man in th...

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