Volver

by José Solís Mayén

"What sadness is film without women!" Francois Truffaut

During one moment in Volver, Grandma Irene (Maura) sits in front of the television knitting, while she watches Anna Magnani in a scene from Bellissima. The television is on mute and I like to think that it's not because she has already seen the film, or is trying to be quiet (since she's a ghost), but because she has already lived through those moments and the film is merely a reminder of a life, that beyond its struggles and obstacles, has been well worth it. That might be Pedro Almodóvar's intention with Volver: a film as fascinated with death as it is moved and scared by it. It opens in a small town cemetery, of all places, where a group of women dutifully, but never tediously, clean and scrape their relatives' graves; among them is Raimunda (Cruz) who, along with her daughter (Cobo) and sister Sole (Dueñas), is paying respects to her parents' tomb. They were killed in a mysterious fire a few years before, but, as their aunt Paula (the magnificent Lampreave) tells them "her mom gets very happy when they visit her".

It appears that Irene's ghost has returned to take care of her and while some attribute it to senility and insanity, Paula is convinced she is not alone. Almodóvar magically sets his story in a place where the dead and the living exist peacefully, and even naturally, since it's not long before Irene appears to her daughter Sole, telling her she's back to fix something she left undone. While Sole, more thrilled with having her mom back, than scared of the fact she's dead, returns back to her life and work, Raimunda is left to face a sudden tragedy that forces her to act to protect her daughter. Despite the fact that several of the events in the film would've had much more importance in a conventional story (which is one of the many ways with which Almodóvar teases us about the unexpected paths he'll take), this one is all about the characters, and how their actions are driven by something that not even rape, murder and incest can change, but by the much more powerful desire to move on.

Volver speaks about returning in more than one way. Besides the external elements (Almodóvar working with Maura and Cruz in women inspired pictures again...), it has an ethereal core that is how we wish to return to our primal state. "A divorced woman is better off with her mother" affirms Irene, while Aunt Paula reminds Raimunda that even if she doesn't visit often "the important thing is to return". And what better way to encompass a sinless state than with mothers? Battling his own demons as he homages the whole Neorrealist movement, Almodóvar simply can't help loving women so much. The fact that some of it is autobiographical is obvious and you can detect it in the almost palpable way with which the production design, subtle score and cinematography fill our senses. With the screenplay, which lingers between soap opera and comedy, he takes outlandish situations and turns them into faithful statements of the need to keep alive. But it's perhaps with his actresses that he achieves a primordial state of beauty, strength and mystery.

Cruz is nothing short of brilliant, in a role that fits her perfectly and one that we would've never expected from her. Raimunda is outspoken, diligent, sensual and kind. Think Sophia Loren or Anna Magnani during their prime; voluptuous, unconventionally beautiful and strong. Cruz delivers her lines with as much sensibility as with life force, despite her anachronistic looks (shaped after the aforementioned film personas) you come out and believe you can bump into Raimunda in the streets. What's so fascinating about Raimunda is that in spite of her poverty, day to day struggles and dark secrets, you envy her. Maura is joyous and warm; as she tries to find the way to make amends, she holds even more secrets that literally lead her to hiding. She is often found under a bed, staying away from her daughters and in those scenes as her character recalls better times, Maura obtains a childlike innocence in her eyes that move you and leave you wondering if when we die we become pure again. Dueñas is outstanding; both hilarious and sincere without needing to take over the screen, and so is Cobo, who gives life to a character that might've easily been relegated as ornament. Portillo gives a performance of quiet dignity as a family friend who begins to look into things more than what she should and with her, Almodóvar makes a bold statement about the inefficiency of both the justice system and the media.

Male appearances are limited, but not inconsequent in Volver, as it's the men who often provoked the tragedies these women need to live through; yet this is not some sort of feminist film, but one that feels about the dreamlike incongruency of memories instead of the sad reality of facts from which the director drew inspiration from. Years from now you might find yourself watching this film again and finding things you never knew were even there. Pedro Almodóvar is a wizard who has become able to homage cinema as much as he achieves emotional accuracy. Volver evokes the wind that made Lillian Gish lose her mind, the angles that Hitchcock used to deliver stories about loneliness, the places from which Fellini and de Sica extracted humanity in a devastated world, and in doing so it reminds us of the dignified place that films take next to what we love the most. The film's spirit can be breathed in one scene where Raimunda, Sole and Paula all mischievously stare at each other, each one knows something the other is dying to know, but they keep their mouth closed and just smile and you can't help but doing so as well. Almodóvar makes Volver so thought provokingly touching that you wish you can settle all your issues before it's too late and ironically so rich and beautiful that you wish you'd never have to leave this life.