Benigno is infatuated with Alicia, a dancer he watches from the anonymity of his apartment. After an accident, she is brought to the hospital where Benigno happens to be her caregiver. When wounded bullfighter Lydia is brought into the same ward, her companion, Marco, bonds with Benigno.
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This particular Almodovar film, magnifies the narcisisstic fantasies of the male ego projected onto a doll-like, unresponsive, virtually dead body. It is a masturbatory romance that exists in Benigno and Marco's mental fabrication to cope with solitude. The ending is typical Almodovar as he does have a formula to all of his films.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Dear lord Almodovar is a fucking genius. The story of this film is exquisitely beautiful and the acting is incredible. The production design and the cinematography go together to make one hell of a gorgeous film to watch. The ending made me cry. Also I absolutely loved the silent film that Benigno tells Alicia about. This is probably one of the best movies ever made.
The comfort of strangers indeed, or perhaps care as a form of fetishised obsession. A more restrained Almodovar - and none the worse for it - with an elegiac web of absences and solitudes achieved via coincidence and crossed paths. The stronger emphasis than usual on men is welcome, albeit being supplicant to the adoration of women. The silent film pastiche is a distracting indulgence, otherwise it's superb overall.
All of Almodóvar's films are so magnificent. The plots are usually great, and it's just a matter of a few details that make some of his films stand out. This one is rather conventional (as in not many social pariahs). The structure is very interesting, and adds a lot. It was great to see two very different stories tackled in the same films.
This year I’ve discovered the power of melodrama with Sirk, Fassbinder, and now Almodovar. But I’m not sure if this constitutes as melodrama, although it is clearly inspired by TV soap operas. But again, maybe it’s not even that, maybe the emotion is too genuine, too true for that label. Or maybe I’m just failing to recognize that art with real emotional power can come in many forms.