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All About My Mother
(Todo Sobre Mi Madre)

**1/2

Cinema Releases - August 27, 1999

Rated on a 4-star scale. Spain. Written and directed by Pedro Almodóvar. Starring Cecilia Roth, Antonia San Juan, Penélope Cruz, Marisa Paredes, Candela Peña, Eloy Azorín.

There is a ludicrous diaper commercial in Pedro Almodóvar's "All About My Mother" at which the audience can't help but laugh. It's taken from actual Spanish television. Spain has a weird, cheesy, over-the-top culture -- Almodóvar, who records it, is mistakenly hailed as a great satirist.

Another ridiculous claim from the director's fans is that he writes strong roles for women. His female leads are stolid and ambiguous, and despite its promising title, this movie is no exception. Cecilia Roth plays Manuela, whose teenage son is killed in a road accident when chasing the burnt-out, chain-smoking stage starlet Huma Rojo (Marisa Paredes) for an autograph. Manuela, who conceived when working as a prostitute two decades ago, decides in her grief to return to old haunts, catch up with friends she can be honest with and perhaps track down her boy's father.

Manuela rents an apartment in the city, settles in, and quickly becomes an important figure to three diverse females. She's a shoulder to cry on for former colleague Agrado (Antonia San Juan), a transsexual hooker frequently troubled by identity crises and occupational hazards. She gives shelter to a young nun (Penélope Cruz) who has been impregnated by an AIDS-afflicted transvestite. And she runs into Huma, whose affairs are falling apart, and Manuela has the smarts to control.

The way these characters are brought together suggests there is something to say about them. If Almodóvar actually does make a point, though, I missed it, and nor did I discover a substantial surface, as the ingenious set-up goes through little development.

"All About My Mother" has the classic Almodóvarean trait of taking the deranged for granted while relying on it for effect. Many find this method delightfully outrageous. To me, it means that nothing can seem outrageous, when the outrageous is already seen as normal; that there's a wonderful background without a foreground; and that nothing past a smile and a shrug is raised by a hermaphrodite whore singing his/her life story to a theatre audience expecting to see a Spanish translation of "A Streetcar Named Desire".

"Todo Sobre Mi Madre", to give the original title, premiered at the Cannes Film Festival to many cheers, and when it didn't win the coveted Palme d'Or, everyone seemed disappointed. Why? It's too dedicated to madness not to be intriguing, but there's not enough to it to be compelling. Its most impressive aspect is Almodóvar's new-found freedom to move his camera, creating a rich and energetic visual style. He's getting better. He's still not great.

COPYRIGHT© 1999 Ian Waldron-Mantgani

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