Critics reviews

Almodóvar’s ninth film isn’t generally ranked among the best of his post-Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, pre-All About My Mother middle period, but when considered in isolation, this oft-daffy lark has surface pleasures (and some horrors) to spare and a plot that, after countless whatever-the-fuck twists, ultimately bows out on a moving note of unexpected emotional power.

The overwrought, almost physical love/hate relationship between the two women never quite rings true, and Almodóvar has crossed the thin comedic line that separated Law of Desire and Matador from cloying melodrama. You come out bruised, thoughtful, but unredeemed.

The film loses some of its momentum as the murder mystery begins to unravel, and overall [High Heels] is perhaps not quite as satisfying as some of his later films. But, as always, Almodóvar conveys a joy of filmmaking which few directors can match.

[High Heels] may not be the best introduction to the director's work, but it is a touching tale of family, love and murder... [The film] has a pervading sense of sadness about it; though there are moments of black comedy.

Almodóvar has always been able to successfully subvert the conventions and constraints of whatever genre he may find himself in, and he continues to do so here... [But in High Heels] there's a sense that the director knows what he wants to say, but isn't too sure how to go about saying it... [The film] becomes mired in its own best intentions -- primary colors and all.

The best thing about “High Heels” are the performances... and the lucidity of Almodovar’s narrative style, which by now seems as natural as breathing. But the film’s poignancy seems borrowed... Almodovar is lip-syncing the kind of passion and irony that suffuses his best work. It’s a slick routine, but it doesn’t match the original or catch the heart.

"High Heels," has none of that jolting, unexpurgated irreverence. It's bright and spunky and playfully melodramatic, but something's missing... It unspools as if it hadn't actually been touched by the director's transforming hand. And, as a result, it feels more like a prosaic knockoff than a classically inspired original.

“High Heels” [is] a film of great color and vitality, and while it is transcendentally silly, I rather enjoyed that quality. It’s a tongue-in-cheek melodrama of cheerfully ridiculous implausibility... But it is accomplished with wit, style and outrage, and although it is all smoke, feathers and laughter, it works.

Almodovar sometimes achieves an arch, unpredictable narrative style but more often manufactures leaden fluff. Unlike [his] best work, "High Heels" has no real mirth and not even enough energy to keep it lively. Even the gaudiness of Mr. Almodovar's antic taste seems muted this time.

[High Heels] oscillates between Almodovar’s characteristically flaky irreverence and a more solemn treatment of the relationship between mother and daughter that intermittently suggests Douglas Sirk without his ironies. It’s a lot more fun to watch than Almodovar’s previous Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, but those who miss the wildness of his premainstream work will probably be only partially appeased.