Talk to Her
Monday, February 24, 2003
It could be, however, that Almodovar trades in a language I can't understand—and, no, I don't mean Spanish. Let's call it—as icky as this phrase sounds—the language of men. I can't get Almodovar for the same reason I can't get Eminem. Both have catchy beats. Both create hypnotizing art. Both have personas that are larger than their work—and those personas have as many detractors as they have fans. Almodovar may be the Eminem of the film scene, and his views about women seem just as vitriolic and spiteful as the Detroit rapper's, which makes it difficult to separate the man from his message.
Which isn't to say that Talk isn't a well-made film. It is, certainly, but it feels too pat and contrived to be a great film. Or, it could be that I'm simply unable to see the greatness that lies within it, given both my gender and my recent issues with timing. It could also be that this is exactly Almodovar's point, that men are talking to women yet can't be understood, and hence Talk actually works quite well.
Stephanie Zacharek's review at Salon leans in the same direction:
"Talk to Her" takes place firmly on our own planet, but Almodóvar is still throwing in his trademark kinky twists: a male nurse sexually obsessed with a comatose woman? By now, if we know anything about Almodóvar, we know that we're supposed to take the conceit and run with it, without stopping to notice that it's a conceit at all.
And maybe that's precisely the problem: "Talk to Her" knows it's an Almodóvar movie, and reminds us frequently. It doesn't matter how many hot tears are shed by the characters -- the movie still has a sheen of cool self-awareness. Benigno is supposed to be something of a charming lost soul, a person who has been so starved of love that he doesn't quite realize it's not a good idea to fall for someone in a coma.
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