There’s a documentary at Cannes this year about David Lean’s work that spends time noting how he might be known for vistas like those in “Bridge on the River Kwai” and “Lawrence of Arabia,” but he can also capture a person’s face as if it were a landscape, making the intimate feel famous. I thought about that when I watched Javier Calvo and the amazing Javier Ambrossi “Black Ball,” a movie that takes the unfinished work of Federico Garcia Lorca and weaves it into an intergenerational study of war, sex, homophobia, and love that’s gone.
The directors known as “Los Javis” took a novel approach to their adaptation Alberto Conejero La piedra oscurabrings one of the few films to Cannes this year that feels like it’s painting on a wide canvas. There’s nothing wrong with the extremes of tight room pieces, but there’s something inspiring about seeing a work with this kind of expansive cinematography, fast-paced score, stunning production and costume design, and exciting editing. David Lean would get it.
“La Bola Negra” opens by introducing us to a musician named Sebastian, soon to be played by Guitarricadelafuente, a famous singer-songwriter from Barcelona with one of the saddest faces you’ve seen in years. Sebastian is playing a concert in a crowded village square in his hometown in 1937 to celebrate what they think is the welcome arrival of their Italian allies when gunfire fills the street. Before he knew it, he was swept away, thrown into a truck, given a gun, and forced to join the army.
Los Javis then goes back a few years to 1932, where we meet a man named Carlos (Milo Quifes), who is trying to join a casino, which seems to be a process not unlike joining a country club today, complete with a tense approval process that involves dropping white balls for yes and black balls for no. He gets more of the latter because of rumors around town about his homosexuality, which is unacceptable in that time and place.
Finally, we jump to 2017, when a writer named Alberto Azcuna (Carlos Gonzalez) learns that his estranged grandfather has recently died, leaving him something in his will. The rest, Alberto will connect this triptych of stories using elements of the mystery genre, but remain very true the human drama of these three characters.
While “Black Ball” cleverly jumps in and out of each timeline, Sebastian’s arc becomes the foundation of the piece—it’s really the reason we’re watching the other two stories, even if they’re equally well done. Sebastian meets and falls in love with a prisoner named Rafael (Miguel Bernardeau), who will soon be executed. Gris Jordana’s camera glides over Bernardeau’s body and Guitarricadeelafuente’s face in a sensual, timeless way. They became the focal characters and representatives of many lost romances across generations. Their story alone makes for exciting cinema, but it is the way it is connected to the other two that turns this into a special piece of writing, a screenplay that reminded me of some of my favorite novels with their delicate character details and sweet feeling.
I didn’t even mention that Julio Torres plays Alberto’s partner, Penelope Cruz shows up to sing two amazing cabaret numbers, and Glenn Close hits fluent Spanish as an expert in Lorca who strings some Alberto strings. It’s a rich film that includes what can be called an indulgent length and several behind-the-scenes scenes with the imagined Lorca sketching the film’s themes with great ease.
At the time, I didn’t care. It’s an overachieving melodrama. And it will have millions of fans who see themselves or someone they know in it, or at least the kind of filmmaking they wish we saw more of these days.
I can’t say for sure, but I’m almost certain that Pedro Almodóvar will like “Black Ball.” Not only does it feature one of his most loyal collaborators, Cruz, but it also speaks to his singing tendencies and concerns, making it seem like Los Javis are disciples of the Spanish king.
So it’s good that Almodovar is back in Cannes and in the Championship with his interesting performance. “A Bitter Christmas,” a drama that also sees the king in a state of confession, wondering about the emotional betrayal that comes with turning your life and the lives of the people you know into art. The French title is “Autofiction,” which we have to prepare for a movie that talks a lot about Pedro, while talking about all the older artists who wonder how their work has influenced them to look like a professional.
In 2004, we met a filmmaker named Elsa (Bárbara Lennie in the lead, giving yet another lead role for Pedro’s lady). He had been suffering from headaches while working on a new project, shortly after his mother’s death. Her lover, Bonifacio (Patrick Criado), who is also a rebel and a firefighter—you have to love Pedro for giving her a beautiful, life-saving, sensual dancer boyfriend—is by her side, but the migraines are the result of panic attacks. She goes on vacation, and we learn about her two friends and their problems: Patricia (Victoria Luengo), who believes her husband is cheating, and Natalia (Milena Smit), who is facing an unimaginable tragedy.
From the beginning, it is clear that this movie-within-a-movie is being written in the present day by Raul (the excellent Leonardo Sbaraglia), an aging filmmaker who is trying to find his voice again. He has a young partner, Santi (Quim Gutiérrez), and an assistant, Monica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón), from whom he finds creative inspiration. Let’s just say: He doesn’t take it well.
“A Bitter Christmas” culminates in a conversation between Raul and Monica that almost resembles a conversation between an angel and the devil over Almodóvar’s shoulder when he sat down to write the movie. Raul admits that he feels like he’s out of ideas, and worries that this will be seen as a chore. The truth is, at least in the scope of one of the world’s greatest artists, but if “A Bitter Christmas” is just a smart assessment of the legacy of the living creator, Almodóvar has earned the show.
