Matador
August 18th 2008 04:24
“When two heavenly bodies meet their light seems to go out, but in their brief convergence they acquire a new luminosity, black and ardent.”
Matador (1986) is my favourite Pedro Almodóvar film. It is also his most stylised in terms of thematic content: sex and death. It’s a perverse comedy (like many of his movies), yet it’s his darkest in tone. A maimed ex-matador and an obsessive lawyer become fatally embroiled in a death wish; a pas de deux, the ultimate orgasm – au petite mort.
I first saw Matador at the Wellington Film Festival in 1987. In the same festival was Almodovar’s Law of Desire (shot back-to-back with Matador), a film he considers a reflection, two sides of the same coin. Whereas Law of Desire deals with the abstract concept of desire, but in a realist way, Matador deals with the concrete element of sexuality, but in a metaphorical, abstract way. Both themes are linked in both movies, yet Matador combines them in a fascinating and fantastic fashion.
Diego (Nacho Martinez) teaches bullfighting in the courtyard of his wealthy Madrid home. He also masturbates to horror/snuff movies (Mario Bava’s Blood and Black Lace features briefly). He is fixated on the allure of killing. But something is missing. One of his students, Angel (Antonio Banderas), idolizes him, but he is a troubled individual. He has a fragile psyche (due to a zealously religious mother; superb performance from Julietta Serrano), but is gifted with a form of clairvoyance. Angel’s neighbour is Eva (Eva Cobo), a model, and Diego’s girlfriend. Whilst talking with Diego after class Angel realises he needs to be more proactive with women; Diego has told him he must approach women like a torero approaches a bull.
Although Matador isn’t specifically about bullfighting, it treats male/female interaction like a corrida. It inverses the masculine and feminine relationships and characterisations; Diego is like a wounded ballerina, one who danced and teased the bull – all glamour and allure - and was crippled, whilst Maria (sumptuous Assumpta Serna), the strutting lawyer, is in stark contrast; grabbing the bull by the horns, she seduces men, fucks them and kills as they climax, thus heightening her own orgasm. She penetrates them like a torero, thrusting her large hairpin down deep between their shoulder blades.
After Angel attempts to rape Eva and fails pathetically (black humour bordering on slapstick), he gives himself up to police, and then blindly confesses to a series of prostitute murders that have eluded the police commissioner del Valle (Eusebio Poncela). Maria is assigned to defend Angel, which piques her interest further when she discovers his tutor is the legendary Diego, a man who fuels an ardour deep within her something chronic. Later the two morbid creatures’ paths cross in a cinema auditorium (where lurid Western Duel in the Sun is playing), and their fate is sealed. Destiny lies in a fatal union of flesh and blood.
The sexuality in Matador, especially for its time, is very provocative. There's an erotic edge that rears its head in certain scenes, in particular when Maria mounts a doomed stranger and rides him beyond the pale; although oddly the movie favours the explicit nudity of the women more so than the men (European films usually never shy from the display of male full frontal nudity, perhaps Almodóvar was keen for a wide American and UK release, the irony being the MPAA eventually slapped an NC-17 on it, probably also due to the movie's opening sequence of onanism to graphic violence).
As in all of Almodóvar’s films there is a celebration of colour and design; scarlet and vermillion feature prominently, obviously as representation of blood, but also rage and passion. While not a savage film, Matador does possess an underlying aggression, yet Almodóvar manipulates this harshness with stylistic bravado, courting and caressing the mise-en-scene with the bold and unfettered hand of a sculptor. Critics will argue his latter movies are more accomplished, but there is originality and fervour pulsing through Matador that one doesn’t find in his later work. Sensual and exquisite images rub up against a wry starkness often with just a hint of atmospheric music.
Matador is a fable, a macabre conceit realised as a sexually-charged descent into a desperate obsession. It’s a fantasy-tragedy pierced through the heart with an absurdist stiletto; as mysterious and moody as the solar eclipse which casts a crimson glow over the intertwined tableaux at movie’s end.
Here's a strangely elusive, but still evocative, Dutch trailer:
Here's the scene with Eva and her mother and Almodovar's cameo:
Matador (1986) is my favourite Pedro Almodóvar film. It is also his most stylised in terms of thematic content: sex and death. It’s a perverse comedy (like many of his movies), yet it’s his darkest in tone. A maimed ex-matador and an obsessive lawyer become fatally embroiled in a death wish; a pas de deux, the ultimate orgasm – au petite mort.
I first saw Matador at the Wellington Film Festival in 1987. In the same festival was Almodovar’s Law of Desire (shot back-to-back with Matador), a film he considers a reflection, two sides of the same coin. Whereas Law of Desire deals with the abstract concept of desire, but in a realist way, Matador deals with the concrete element of sexuality, but in a metaphorical, abstract way. Both themes are linked in both movies, yet Matador combines them in a fascinating and fantastic fashion.
Diego (Nacho Martinez) teaches bullfighting in the courtyard of his wealthy Madrid home. He also masturbates to horror/snuff movies (Mario Bava’s Blood and Black Lace features briefly). He is fixated on the allure of killing. But something is missing. One of his students, Angel (Antonio Banderas), idolizes him, but he is a troubled individual. He has a fragile psyche (due to a zealously religious mother; superb performance from Julietta Serrano), but is gifted with a form of clairvoyance. Angel’s neighbour is Eva (Eva Cobo), a model, and Diego’s girlfriend. Whilst talking with Diego after class Angel realises he needs to be more proactive with women; Diego has told him he must approach women like a torero approaches a bull.
Although Matador isn’t specifically about bullfighting, it treats male/female interaction like a corrida. It inverses the masculine and feminine relationships and characterisations; Diego is like a wounded ballerina, one who danced and teased the bull – all glamour and allure - and was crippled, whilst Maria (sumptuous Assumpta Serna), the strutting lawyer, is in stark contrast; grabbing the bull by the horns, she seduces men, fucks them and kills as they climax, thus heightening her own orgasm. She penetrates them like a torero, thrusting her large hairpin down deep between their shoulder blades.
After Angel attempts to rape Eva and fails pathetically (black humour bordering on slapstick), he gives himself up to police, and then blindly confesses to a series of prostitute murders that have eluded the police commissioner del Valle (Eusebio Poncela). Maria is assigned to defend Angel, which piques her interest further when she discovers his tutor is the legendary Diego, a man who fuels an ardour deep within her something chronic. Later the two morbid creatures’ paths cross in a cinema auditorium (where lurid Western Duel in the Sun is playing), and their fate is sealed. Destiny lies in a fatal union of flesh and blood.
The sexuality in Matador, especially for its time, is very provocative. There's an erotic edge that rears its head in certain scenes, in particular when Maria mounts a doomed stranger and rides him beyond the pale; although oddly the movie favours the explicit nudity of the women more so than the men (European films usually never shy from the display of male full frontal nudity, perhaps Almodóvar was keen for a wide American and UK release, the irony being the MPAA eventually slapped an NC-17 on it, probably also due to the movie's opening sequence of onanism to graphic violence).
As in all of Almodóvar’s films there is a celebration of colour and design; scarlet and vermillion feature prominently, obviously as representation of blood, but also rage and passion. While not a savage film, Matador does possess an underlying aggression, yet Almodóvar manipulates this harshness with stylistic bravado, courting and caressing the mise-en-scene with the bold and unfettered hand of a sculptor. Critics will argue his latter movies are more accomplished, but there is originality and fervour pulsing through Matador that one doesn’t find in his later work. Sensual and exquisite images rub up against a wry starkness often with just a hint of atmospheric music.
Matador is a fable, a macabre conceit realised as a sexually-charged descent into a desperate obsession. It’s a fantasy-tragedy pierced through the heart with an absurdist stiletto; as mysterious and moody as the solar eclipse which casts a crimson glow over the intertwined tableaux at movie’s end.
Here's a strangely elusive, but still evocative, Dutch trailer:
Here's the scene with Eva and her mother and Almodovar's cameo:
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Comment by Anonymous
Comment by Cibbuano
20/20 Filmsight
Science News
Hunt Famous
Orble Post of the Day
Fat Cult
Techbreak
...Almodovar likes to use bullfighting in his movie, eh? Perhaps he grew up with it?
This looks terrific... I'm a big fan of his movies, which may be artificial, but are glorious depictions of lust and desire...
Comment by Bryn
Horrorphile
Have you seen Bigas Luna's Jamon Jamon?