Pain and Glory (2019, Pedro Almodóvar) (Patreon)

50/100

Nobody ever sits down and consciously devises categories of films that hold relatively little interest for them. At some point, it just dawns on you: "Oh, I kinda never like this movie." One would think I'd have long since identified all of my own blind spots, after some three decades of hardcore cinephilia; struggling to articulate why Pain and Glory seemed neither painful nor glorious, however, made me realize that I'm virtually always unmoved by someone identifying a formative moment from his/her past (as distinct from a full-blown memory/period piece). Here, Almodóvar’s semi-autobiographical protagonist mostly mopes around in the present tense, being reminded of his first carnal impulse and first great love—either or both of which might have made for compelling drama, were they not functioning primarily as a means of helping PseudoPedro overcome a creative block. (Didn't help that I guessed the nature of Penélope Cruz's flashbacks quite early.) Banderas' performance receiving universal acclaim and Cannes' Best Actor prize seems particularly weird to me, not because he's bad but because the role gives him relatively little to do. (Even Mallo's heroin use is low-key.) This is arguably Almodóvar's mellowest effort yet, rocking a gentle ruefulness that I suppose could be perceived as maturity (a shift that dates back at least to 1995's The Flower of My Secret), but which to my mind too often flirts with banality. Surface similarities to Bad Education, which squeezed real, pulpy juice from the notion of converting sexual history into art, make Pain and Glory's comparative reticence feel even more...I was about to say "cowardly," but that's too harsh. Mostly, the film just seems nice. And I'm having trouble thinking of similarly reflective narratives that don't likewise leave me somewhat cold—not a fan of Wild Strawberries, really wish Sean Penn weren't in Tree of Life (a film I'd probably otherwise love), etc. Dazed and Confused wouldn't have worked better as the explicit reminiscence of a 33-year-old who's frustrated with his lot in life and escapes into raucous high school memories. The past is a foreign country. Board the damn plane.