Pedro Almodóvar - Tacones Lejanos ('High Heels') (1991)

As the film beginning a run of mid-period Almodóvar vehicles which, while interesting, were more problematic than the dark intensity of his earlier works but hadn’t yet developed the majesty and emotional kick of his finest later films (the trilogy comprising Todo sobre mi madre, Hable con ella & La mala educación), I wasn’t expecting particularly much from TL (particularly given the cold critical reception it initially received). Mistake!

The Almodóvar trademarks are there – the gorgeous design and vivid colour (in Almodóvar’s universe, the perfect interiors provide the ideal contrast to the messiness of human relationships, emotions and the body), as well as stunning lead performances by two notable Almodóvariennes, Victoria Abril & Marisa Paredes. Like his other films, TL quotes the classic female melodramas so adored by Almodóvar (in particular, here, Bergman’s Autumn Sonata), and echoes the narrative of such works, inflected through a sensibility which turns the transgression, sexuality and queer knobs up past ten.

The plot concerns the troubled relationship between Rebeca (Abril), a newscaster, and her mother Becky (Paredes) who is returning to Spain after fifteen years in Mexico (the Spanish title, Tacones Lejanos, translates as ‘distant heels,’ capturing the melancholy of this relationship in referencing Rebeca’s childhood memory of her mother’s presence, rather than the more comedy-oriented nature of the English title). In the meantime, Rebeca has married Manuel (Féodor Atkine), once a lover of her mother’s, and become close friends with a drag queen, Letal (Miguel Bosé), who pastiches Becky’s 60s persona. And when Manuel is murdered, things take a turn for the even-more-complicated, leading to the unraveling of facades within facades, an exploration of history and identity in terms of surface and reality (not to mention celebrity), delivered with the hysterical emotional lability which is also an Almodóvarian hallmark.

Unlike some of his other works, this narrative is compelling and never drags – a particularly impressive feature is the Rashomonesque untangling of Miguel’s murder – a theme which ties in to the central question of appearance and reality in world as hyper-real as its décor, where characters are ‘larger than life’ in the sense that their identity is lived out through stage or screen personas, and where events gain emotional reality and even truth status (only) by their enactment in such venues. Oh, and just in case there weren’t enough exploitative elements here, there are a number of set pieces (including a bizarre but strangely fitting choregraphed dance piece) set in a women’s prison. But here we can contrast Kika, Almodóvar’s next work – where Kika takes the (prescient) exploration of ‘reality’ and truth on the screen, as well as acts of cruelty and transgression, to absurd extremes in ways which, while intriguing, fail inasmuch as they betray a callous insensitivity to human emotions, TL walks this tightrope much more successfully. The soundtrack, which features various divas of the Spanish musical world and at times becomes powerfully diegetic, is also particularly strong, comparable only to Todo sobre mi madre, while the score, composed by Ryuichi Sakamoto, works well within this context (despite Almodóvar’s expression of dislike for it).

If there is a weak point, it is the performance of Bosé as the male lead – his casting was apparently a cause célèbre given his status as a famous Spanish-language singer, but his acting and indeed his ‘look’ seem stilted and banal, out of place in the lush and vivid environment of the film, while his transformation into various personas as the film progresses is obvious in a way which takes the omniscience of melodrama a tad too far. Despite this, however, this is a work which is beautiful and thought-provoking, one which fits beautifully into an evolving, yet circling, Almodóvarian project, yet at the same time holds its own in terms of the visceral and intellectual pleasure of the viewing experience, and in terms of originality.

...while the moon is on the sea...

The Vanduras - In The Dark (2002)
The Blue Hawaiians - Savage Night (1999)
The Aqua Velvets - Guitar Noir (1997)

While some surf music epitomizes the visceral pleasures of brute physicality, of the heat of the sun, the cold of the ocean, the rolling epic thunder of the waves, there are also shadowy corners of surf, places where the instrumental guitar takes us into more sinister and exotic locales, without losing the crystalline clarity and echoing sense of atmosphere which characterize much surf music. The laid-back approach, the re-envisioning of the wave ride as a night cruise in a finned car, has its fruits, as these albums demonstrate.

Each is atmospheric - serving as excellent background music for late-night activities from cocktail parties to back alley transactions, while at the same time rewarding more detailed listening which reveals the beauty and skill at work in putting these pieces together. On that note, the Vanduras’ unlikely cover of Stereolab’s 'Cybele’s Reverie' would have to be one of my favourite covers of the year, setting the gorgeous melody in such a way that it takes wing – or perhaps wave. Indeed, choice of covers is also a strength for The Blue Hawaiians in the dark, excellent versions of 'A Cheat' and, particularly impressive, a slowed-down, spinetingling yet still somehow deeply funky 'Shakin’ All Over' – as well as a somewhat less successful version of Tom Waits’ 'Jockey Full of Bourbon,' which nonetheless is a choice demonstrating impeccable taste. The vocals, reminiscent of Chris Isaak, work perfectly in this context, and the few vocal songs weave in and out of the mix in a way which creates an integrated whole. There are touches of lounge swing and exotica to be found here and on Guitar Noir, which are mostly well chosen but occasionally mood-breakers; overall, however, these albums, taking instrumental surf guitar as a starting point, each create a moody atmosphere which traverses themes and styles of the forties, fifties and sixties. For something a little darker and more elegant – the Shag cocktail party, perhaps, thrown after a hard day at the waveface, after the last of the sand has been rinsed and the lava lamp lit – here is the perfect soundtrack.

See also: Don Tiki, The Tikiyaki Orchestra, Psycho Beach Party

P. D. James - A Certain Justice (1997)

I don't read crime very much, and almost never anything published after the 1960s (with the exception of C. J. Sansom's wonderful historical Matthew Shardlake series). But, having neglected to take sufficient holiday reading, I was thrown back on limited resources, and so I found myself reading P. D. James, who I've always heard spoken highly of - although in the fields of genre writing (or indeed other fields) this isn't necessarily any guarantee). My opinion after reading one work, though, is very much in agreement.

The plot concerns the murder of Venetia Aldridge, a high-flying lawyer who (as is so often the case) has provided various acquaintances with numerous reasons to wish for her death. One of the quotes on the book characterised James' work as 'Dickensian,' and, while the humorous and satirical aspect of Dickens' writing isn't to be found here, the atmosphere James creates around Chancery and the Inns of the Court (a legalistic atmosphere which might appear the driest possible setting) reminded me favourably of the only work of Dickens' that I have much time for, Bleak House. James' writing is sharp, clean, and observant, while the murder itself and the question of whodunnit, particularly in the early part of the book, takes a back seat to, or provides a vehicle for, characterisation and psychological observation. Adam Dalgliesh, James' well-known investigator, doesn't even appear until a good third of the way through the book.

While the plot itself isn't quite as 'realist' as every other aspect of the novel, and I found aspects of the denouement unsatisfactory (and thus perhaps more realist than most crime novels), overall I greatly enjoyed this work both from the perspective of a genre crime piece, and that of a work of literature. I'll definitely be reading more P. D. James.