Word of Mouth

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No filmmaker treats women better than Pedro Almodóvar does. The ladies' man has been giving his best roles to females for decades, displaying his uncannily accurate girls'-eye-view of the world — filled out with explorations of femininity and sexuality — and his unerring confidence in his actors. Rare is the Hollywood film that would trust its women to deliver such depth and range (at least, not simultaneously). Now, by putting both female leads in Talk to Her in comas, Almodóvar gives the men their turn and shows that a touching, intelligent and funny look at relationships isn't just for girls.

Marco is a journalist who visits his girlfriend Lydia at the hospital where Benigno works. Marco cries at the thought of his old love; his girlfriend Lydia is a bullfighter who was trampled into a coma — the director may be giving men center-stage, but he still can't help playing around with gender roles. Benigno is the ultimate caretaker: a nurse who dedicated his life to looking after his mother and then transferred his devotion to a young ballet dancer, Alicia, who has been unconscious for years. The two men become friends when Benigno urges Marco to talk to Lydia because, although it seems like she can't hear, "a woman's mind is a mystery."

Benigno, in turn, has entire conversations with Alicia, telling her about his day, sharing secrets, reciting the plots to old movies. Even without saying a word, the two women manage to capture the men's hearts and, later, break them. But, without real conversation, those relationships ultimately come up empty. If Benigno and Marco ever purely fall in love, it is with each other. Just as in his Oscar-winning All About My Mother, Almodóvar hints at a latent homoeroticism, but instead of using it to titillate, he presents it as a result of the deep loyalty and intense empathy that only same-sex friendships can maintain.

In general, however, Talk to Her is more sombre, quiet and introspective than much of Almodóvar's back catalogue. The colors are muted blues and greens, with only the orange of the hospital wall to remind us of All About My Mother's glaring brightness. Silence says as much as dialogue, and Alberto Iglesias' fantastic score does a lot of the talking. Strange as it may be to say about a writer/director who has been making films for almost 30 years, this is the sign of a more mature Almodóvar. He hasn't completely lost his sense of fun — witness the hilarious black-and-white fantasy of the Incredible Shrinking Lover — but his eye for detail has certainly sharpened. The film is scattered with moments of incredible beauty: a bed sheet floating down to take the form of Alicia's body; the intricate ritual of dressing Lydia for her fight; the mesmerizing rocking of women's hips in the final dance number.

This fresh grasp of subtlety also shows in the casting, with both Darío Grandinetti (Marco) and Javier Cámara (Benigno) playing their tortured souls in very different ways. Grandinetti's lived-in face and faraway eyes give Marco a sense of past — he's a man who has already been through too much. On the other hand, Cámara's round features and shy smile give Benigno a blind innocence — a man who lives in his own, pain-free world. It's easy to see why these two are drawn to each other: Benigno gives Marco hope, Marco gives Benigno an anchor in reality. Both need each other in their loneliness. As for the women, Rosario Flores is brilliant as the feisty Lydia, but as dancer Alicia, Leonor Watling has little to do but make a good-looking coma patient. No matter, because Grandinetti and Camara could have carried the entire film all by themselves. Even without the estrogen, Talk to Her is still pure Almodóvar: a tender and moving story of relationships, told with smile. And that's something worth talking about.