One of the most storied, successful and stylish filmmakers in modern European history, Spain’s Pedro Almodóvar has shelves filled with festival trophies and awards. His career began in the 1980s, buoyed by the newfound freedoms following the fall of the dictator, General Franco, and he blossomed from being an anarchic rapscallion into aparagon of taste, emotion and visual panache. All About My Mother, Talk To Her, Bad Education and Volver are among the most cherished of his pictures, but he has been on his strongest run ever since 2016’s gorgeous Julieta. His new film, Bitter Christmas, takes acue from 2019’s Pain &Glory, in that it is areflective drama about the ethics of filmmaking concerning afilmmaker, Raúl, who is taken to task by his assistant, Mónica, for the content and inspirations of some of his supposedly fictional stories.
LWLies: In Bitter Christmas we meet the character of Raúl, who is looking for material that captivates him as an artist and filmmaker. When do you know you’re captivated by something?
Get more Little WhiteLies
Almodóvar: Idon’t get the whole story that comes to me. It’s more like aspark of an idea. And it really can happen in any moment in my quotidian life. What Ido is, when it does come, Iimmediately stop and Itake notes. You don’t really know it from the beginning, as Iwrite down these ideas and then, as they continue to haunt me, and Icome back to them again and again, there comes apoint when Isuddenly realise that there is astory. And Ibegin to develop that. As Idevelop these stories, they don’t all turn into scripts. Some of them will just sit in my desk drawer, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. In some cases, they’re just buried. In these frustrated stories sometimes there are parts that Ireally like, so Imight take those stories and turn them into set pieces. Even though Idon’t like the ending or the totality of astory, parts of those stories make it into otherfilms.
This collection of thoughts and ideas, do you look at them when you’re blocked and searching for inspiration?
I don’t really revisit these fragments of stories when I’m blocked. Ialmost read them more as aform of entertainment. I’ll go back to things that I’ve written in the past and see them from anew perspective, and from anew time Idiscover things. But the thing to stress here is that everything is useful.
You’ve spoken about this film and said you’ve been quite self critical with it. What has motivated that self-criticism?
This is really apractice that comes abit more from theatre. Something like the work of Pirandello, where characters might challenge or push back against the author. As Iwas developing Bitter Christmas, Inever knew Iwas going to arrive at the final 20minutes of the film, when Mónica begins to question the parameters of the movie itself. It was exciting for me as it was new. It brought me to aplace where Iwas able to reflect on my own process and my own way of working.
Is there someone like Mónica in real life, someone who, through your career, has been able to offer you honest criticism of yourwork?
There are not many people who Ishare the script with. When Ifeel that it is ready Ido share with my brother [and producer], Agustín [Almodóvar]. And there are probably two or three other people who Ientrust with reading that script. Yet, by the time Ishare the script, Iam quite satisfied and I’m just looking for other voices, other points of view, asense of how they’re seeing and hearing the story. During the process of development, I’m actually quite self-critical of my own work, so Ihave already worked out many of the problems in advance. It’s quite afinished draft when Ishare it.
Did you find this element self-criticism therapeutic? Was there acathartic element to writing thisfilm?
As you’re writing, you’re always going to come across problems that you’re trying to solve. For me, Ishared the example of the last 20minutes that were asurprise to me, in that it’s such amagical moment when something like that surprises me. If there’s anything that comes close to catharsis, it’s the moment of satisfaction that comes from when something I’ve been working on really jolts me in that way. Iwould really have to spend alot of time thinking about my 23 films, but when these unexpected things come to me, Ireceive them as epiphanies. If Ithink about the films that are really at the top of my career – things like All About My Mother, Talk to Her, Bad Education, Volver – these are films that took me many, many, many years to write. They are all films that are representative of alot of work, and they encompass alot of layers of meaning and try to solidify astory. So it’s less of acathartic element associated with those films, but more of aneed for alot of patience and alot of belief in the kind of story you want totell.
One way to read the Raúl character in this film is to believe Mónica’s suggestion that what he is doing is unethical and immoral. Yet there is aparadox, as how else is he able to be creative and find inspiration away from direct human experience?
I think the case for all screenwriters, or anyone who writes stories, is that the base of what you write is founded on real life or the world that surrounds you. Whether that’s friends, society, the things you experience. This is true for anyone, even when you’re talking about genre film, let’s say science-fiction films that appear detached from reality. There are always going to be experiences that are hiding behind characters that might otherwise seem not so realistic. So it’s by default that everything and everyone that surrounds awriter feeds their creation. And Ithink this is particularly true of those we most love, who are closest to us. There should probably be ethical limits to autofiction. In this case, it’s not managed by law. Yes, there might be some cases where, contractually, there are some clauses around confidentiality where you can’t speak of certain things. Yet by and large, it’s something that the writer imposes upon themself. The moral limits are limits that you chose yourself. An author is going to be fundamentally selfish. You’re always going to care more about the story you’re writing than you are by the person who inspired the story. What you try to do is not hurt the person that is close to you. That’s something that’s my own stance, my own moral code. Itry to not hurt the people around me. This is an eternal problem. Any family who has awriter in it is afamily in danger of being exposed. Writers in this way are fundamentally dangerous.
The artists and filmmakers you depict in your films tend to be very lonely, introverted, mercurial characters. How true is that to your reality?
The process of writing you’re going to have to do alone, so it already implicates this sense of solitude. The moment of the shoot is very different as it’s more of acommunal experience. Age also matters. When Iwas young Icould write, shoot amovie but also go out to the disco and be out all hours of the night and next morning be right back at it. The kind of process when Iwas 25years old is very different to my process in my seventies and Ineed to focus more and have more solitude. Now Ihave to write, focus and take care of myself so Ican continue what I’mdoing.
Do you have any superstitions or ways of working that are integral to your writing process and being creative?
It’s not quite asuperstition, but my profound belief behind my practice is to just lead anormal life. By that Imean trying to not travel too much, not doing abunch of interviews, allowing myself to focus on the work, but to also interrupt that work with simple daily events – see my friends, go for awalk, have dinner. Keep aminimal social life. The reason for that is that you can’t leave astory at home, the story keeps growing within you. Imight go for awalk and the story keeps developing. Ibegin to see the world through the lens of the story I’m working on. Imight hear asong that I’ve heard athousand times before, but Ihaven’t heard it in the context of the story I’m working on. Suddenly that song takes on abrand new meaning. The same thing might go for amovie. As you walk around the world and experience your daily life, your pores become more receptive and opened up to all these influences.
There are so many musical interludes in your films. There’s an amazing one in this film, and one of my favourite scenes ever is Penélope Cruz singing ‘Volver’. As astudent of classic Hollywood cinema, have you ever considered writing amusical?
My only experience of musicals was when Women on the Verge of aNervous Breakdown was adapted into aBroadway play. It really was impressive to see how much work goes on, and how profound and intense the work was, behind any kind of Broadway production. Bitter Christmas has about five songs that have avery specific narrative element to them. But it’s not in the manner of the musical. I’m actually not interested in doing afull-blown musical, despite the fact that Ido like that songs become part of the story. Even though my characters sing, they are more part of dailylife.
They are more like Jacques Demy films than Hollywood, the way the songs are part of this dailylife.
Even though Jacques Demy was aFrench director obsessed with American musicalcomedies. That was his dream. He does it in his own way, which is avery different way and it’s great. It’s one of my favourites. The colour is completely pop and completely extreme. Iadore it. Françoise Dorléac and Catherine Deneuve are amazing.
I find this period of your work, which encompasses this seam of self-reflection, to be very exciting. Will it continue into the future?
After this movie, Idon’t think Iwant to be inspired by myself for quite along time. After 23 features and two long shorts, the thing that excites me the most is to approach different stories and do things Ihaven’t done before. The path I’m on now is about looking for the thing Ihaven’t done before. The next thing Ido will be very different from these self-reflexive films, very different from my earlier films. But you’ll still be able to recognise me and they will still have alot ofsongs.