Review: "Pain and Glory" Finds Creative Freedom in Vulnerability

Scene from Pain and Glory

Over the course of a career, the best of artists will have expressed themselves on levels so personal that it's hard to think that there's anything left to cover. For Pedro Almodovar's Pain and Gain, the struggles of Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas) feel like they've only readjusted themselves following a career of international acclaim. Are his best days behind him, or is he bound to turn his latest project into the next big masterpiece? Following the reappraisal of a 30-year-old film, Salvador has a chance to look back on his life, especially in relation to his collaborators and youth, going on a mission to find where meaning comes from at a time when he's worn, his body falling apart on him as he does everything to maintain his vibrancy. As far as dramas looking back on a life well-lived, Almodovar has made one of the most beautiful and touching tales, finding the intricate balance between inspiration and human flaw. By the end, truth and reality have mixed so ambiguously that one has to wonder if life imitates art, or if art gives reason to live. Maybe it's both and we just don't realize it.

When introducing himself, Salvador claims that he was a failure as a student. Because he discovered the arts when he was young, he was often pulled away from his studies, meaning that he discovered it in practical manners. The more that he became a figure of international reproach, he learned about geography and science, creating an understanding of the world that he hopes will explain his purpose in life. As for graphics that float across the screen, Salvador slowly reveals his physiological weaknesses. He has developed back problems as well as breathing issues that restrict him in some ways. The film opens with him submerged in a pool, and it's the perfect symbol for his health. Due to a rare illness, he feels like he's drowning even without drinking water. Maybe it's the heroin addiction that enters and exits his life with some consistency, or maybe it's the depression that keeps him from connecting to his peers. Though likely it's just the terrible toll of aging.

Throughout the course of the story, Salvador's present is interrupted by his own past. A younger Salvador (Asier Flores) is seen with his mother (Penelope Cruz) during moments that slowly reveal pivotal details about the man he would become 50 years later. It comes through the music that his mother sings while washing clothes, or a relationship with a painter (Cesar Vicente) that he tutors in a cavernous pueblo. In these moments the audience is already seeing symbolic art placed throughout. In the water, there is a bar of soap that explodes as if suggesting some congestion for Salvador's drowning state. Even the painter's presence slowly unveils deeper feelings inside Salvador, which becomes tragic in the back half of the film. Then there's his mother, the figure that feels like the personal breakthrough in his narrative.

One of his latest screenplays is a mix of fact and fiction. A former collaborator Alberto Crespo (Asier Etxeandia) becomes enamored with it and proceeds to perform it via a monologue that slowly brings Salvador's life into a clearer focus. The world becomes more ambiguous. Is it all just art, or is there some truth underneath? Almodovar's script is so personal that he claims to have designed Salvador's home after his own. Even in that sense the fiction and reality are blending, serving Banderas as a stand-in for the legendary filmmaker as a commentary on his own career. While there's plenty that feels revelatory about his prose, it's his mother that he keeps returning to, hoping to understand his personal motivations by incorporating her into his art. It starts sheepish but slowly becomes more obvious. But, will it make him happier?

Banderas gives a phenomenal performance in his quiet, observant state. Over the course of many conversations, he is reunited with his past and confronts details about his identity that unleash small twinges in his face. He is observant, but due to a depression likely caused by the failing health he is reserved and unwilling to interact with the world in a productive way. He has to be coaxed into every decision. It's ultimately for the best, but the man whose wardrobe and architecture are magnificently flamboyant, with vibrant and healthy colors creating a welcoming tone, feels antithetical. His revelations will make him happy, but for all of his flamboyance, Salvador doesn't have an eccentric shift of tone. He observes and feels the exhilaration on a deeper level. It's so packed with meaning that it becomes powerful as he finally reaches that smile like he's finally at peace with the elements of his sadness.

Pain and Glory is the type of film that only a master could truly make. It's a story that has elements of autobiography for Almodovar, but also reveal his knack for details both in the stunning visuals and in directorial choices that become more surprising as they go along. The film's blend of fact and fiction may sound like a needless flourish, but it all feels so real and in some ways better understands Salvador as a man looking at his successes and failures over the course of two hours. He is, after all, a man who uses art as self-expression, and this is his attempt to find new ways to express himself. As it gets going, it feels like a story of reality's hardships trying to hold him back, but in art, he finds a way to be immortal. It's a beautiful catharsis, and one whose every pain feels lived in, every conversation has something personal and intimate. The way that every plot device becomes meaningful over time is brilliant. Almodovar has made a self-meditating masterpiece.

There's not much that may seem groundbreaking about making a film about art in 2019, but that's because it takes effort to find a deeper truth. Art was always about self-expression, sharing ideas with the world writ large and hoping to find some acceptance that the real world wasn't giving you. For two hours, Almodovar has found it in some of the best filmmaking of the year. It also helps that there's plenty to love about the flawed brilliance of Banderas' performance, finding small ways to grow with every scene while reflecting a man beaten by life in ways that are tragic but inevitable. It's one of the most mature looks at an artist that have been made, and one that packs a punch by the end that reflects Almodovar's gifts as a storyteller. If this doesn't make him a happier person with a clearer head, it definitely has made the audience willing to patiently wait for the awe-inspiring reveals to crop up. It's a journey into the vulnerable, and its there that the great art starts to be formed.