PFF ’17: The Bar

It is like the Cheers from Hell. The regulars at this downtown Madrid tavern know each other’s names, but that does not mean they like each other It is a far from ideal spot to be trapped during a catastrophe, but its not like anyone had a choice. Elena just came in to charge her phone, but she will struggle to survive with a group of strangers in Álex de la Iglesia’s The Bar (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Philadelphia Film Festival.

Elena was on her way to meet her internet date, but alas for him, she will stand him up. It is not her fault. Blame the sniper picking off every customer leaving that crummy bar. The mysterious agency at work also disposes of the bodies with ruthless efficiency. Whatever is going on, the Spanish government does not want citizens to know about it. An airtight media blackout is in effect and the bar is soon physically sealed from the outside.

To survive they will have to work together, but that will be harder than it sounds. Both the working-class bartender Sátur and Nacho, the hipster advertising designer would be happy to work closely with Elena, but not so much the shrewish proprietor or the anti-social pensioner who regular comes to feed the slot machines. The retired cop and the lingerie salesman are both rather standoffish, but Israel, the unstable, Bible-quoting homeless maniac will talk to anyone.

Clearly, the Spanish government has improved significantly at perpetrating cover-ups since the release of [REC] 2. It helps that nobody out there really wants to know the truth, or so de la Iglesia clearly suggests. Like My Big Night and Witching & Bitching, The Bar features a colorful cast of characters, driven by an incredible set of circumstances to act like lunatics. However, as the initial sense of mystery wears off, it becomes a rather conventional exercise in lifeboat paranoia. The unhinged Book of Revelations-obsessed ravings of the increasingly violent “Israel” also quickly become wearisome. Still, we can see why de la Iglesia is one of the top genre directors on the international festival scene from the way he generates tension from the contrivances forcing the survivors to squeeze through a narrow drainage hole into the sewers below.

Blanca Suárez truly gives a fearless performance as Elena, especially when de la Iglesia is lathering her in baking oil and forcing her through said apertures. Even apart from all that, she elevates the film with her smart, sophisticated presence. Mario Casas effectively plays against type as the shy, slightly creepy Nacho. However, Jaime Ordóñez’s abrasively eye-rolling, transparently on-the-nose Israel goes beyond the cartoonish lunacy we expect and enjoy in de la Iglesia’s films.

De la Iglesia has a knack for bedlam and spectacle, but he also has a tendency to get bogged down in didactic indulgences (As Luck Would Have It being an unfortunate example). Viewers can see full well the merits of the former inclination and the frustrating implications of the latter during the course of The Bar. It is a film that ultimately undermines itself, but it still earns mega-style points for using Duke Ellington’s “Portrait of Wellman Braud” during the opening and closing credits. Not nearly as much fun as Big Night or Witching, The Bar is best left to the auteur’s most ardent fans when it screens Friday (10/27) and Saturday (10/28) as part of this year’s PFF.

De la Iglesia’s My Big Night

New Year’s in October is sort of like Christmas in July, but there are fewer door-buster sales and more hooking-up. During the pre-recording of a Spanish New Year’s countdown special, just about everything goes wrong behind the scenes, but the extras hired to be party guests hardly notice. They are too busy acting crazy in Álex de la Iglesia’s My Big Night (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

José has no clue what to expect when his employment agency sends him to the set of the television special, but the increasingly violent picket line outside is the first sign this will be no ordinary gig. His previously shunned seat will be right beneath the camera-crane that beaned his predecessor. Much to his delight, he strikes up an immediate rapport with the bombshell Paloma. In fact, his entire table seems to have paired up quite amorously. Unfortunately, they blame the allegedly jinxed Paloma for a series of accidents plaguing the set.

Regardless of Paloma’s luck or karma, she is probably the least of everyone’s worries. Instead, they should be more concerned with the aging Tom Jones figure Alphonso (just “Alphonso,” in the uni-named tradition of superstardom), whose resentful adopted son has recruited a psychotic fan to assassinate him. Meanwhile, gold-digging extras have conspired to secure a vial of bodily fluid from the ridiculous new pop idol Adanne, as part of a child support scheme. All the madness unfolds under the negligent eye of the embezzling producer, who plans to abscond as soon as they finish taping. Unfortunately, it seems like this disastrous show will never end—and why should it, when everyone else is having so much fun?

Big Night addresses many of the same issues de la Iglesia tackled in the dour and didactic As Luck Would Have It, but this time he binges on the sort of naughty humor and madcap energy the earlier film completely lacked. Granted, there is still a fair amount of predatory behavior on display, but it is always played for darkly comic effect. The frothier films of Almodór are an obvious comparison, but Big Night has a madness all its own.

Collectively, the game ensemble will pretty much do anything for a laugh. For the local Spanish audience, it starts with real life Latin balladeer Raphael (still with the one name) playing a wildly exaggerated (we should hope) version of himself. In a similar spirit, as Adanne, Mario Casas gives a performance worthy of Fabio. However, Pepón Nieto solidly anchors the lunacy as poor, confused José.

In all honesty, My Big Night might be de la Iglesia’s most accomplished feat of auteurism since The Last Circus. Frankly, it goes well past over-the-top, becoming spectacularly impressive for its manic pace and sheer bravado. Highly recommended for those who enjoy farce with an acidic edge, My Big Night opens this Friday (4/15) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

Scary Movies 9: Shrew’s Nest

Montse lives in 1950s Madrid, but she shares a close kinship with the sisters in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? You could say Montse has issues. Oh my, does she ever. Unfortunately, that means everyone around her also has issues. At least as a shut-in seamstress, she has a limited social circle, but she still manages to do extensive damage in Jaunfer Andrés & Esteban Roel’s Shrew’s Nest (trailer here), which screens as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Scary Movies 9.

It is pretty obvious Montse’s abusive father is to blame for her dysfunctional state of mind. He has been dead for years, but she is still tormented by hallucinations of the sanctimonious hypocrite. The film hints darkly at what may have transpired between them, eventually confirming everything. Montse largely shielded her younger sister, known simply as “La Niña” from their father, but she became problematically controlling and sometimes even frightening in her own way. The two grown sisters still live together in their family’s flat, but Montse’s chronic agoraphobia prevents her from stepping outside. As a result, she relies on La Niña to be her connection the outside world.

One day, Montse discovers the playboy from the upstairs flat is lying wounded on their landing. Somehow she skootches him inside and starts nursing Carlos. Rather taken with the handsome ladies’ man, Montse decides to keep him. At first, she tries to hide his presence from her sister and their clients, but that simply is not realistic. At first, Hugo is grateful for Montse’s care and the haven she provides from his pregnant lover and her unamused father. However, as his broken leg turns black and festering, he will look to La Niña for help.

Yes, Nest is more than a little Misery-like, except Montse might just top Annie Wilkes’ hobbling scene. Yet, we also understand the twitchy, bug-eyed, morphine-addicted Montse is the film’s original victim, who is still be victimized by her father, from beyond the grave. Frankly, it is absolutely amazing how much compassion Andrés & Roel preserve for Montse, because great gosh almighty, can she dish out the pain.

Whether you love Nest or utterly despise it, you will never forget Macarena Gomez’s performance as Montse. It is one for the ages. She manages to do acutely subtle bits of character-establishing business, as well as wildly over the top scenery chewing, often simultaneously. In contrast, Nadia de Santiago is a paragon of sensitivity and reserve as La Niña, but there is no way she can avoid the gargantuan shadow cast by Gomez’s Montse.

Nest is another fine example of the meticulous care given to set dressing and general mise-en-scène in Spanish horror films. The fact that this Grand Guignol of domestic carnage is set foursquare in the Franco era is hardly accidental either, especially with Álex de la Iglesia on board as a producer. Regardless, as a claustrophobic Iberian psycho-thriller, it is pretty darn effective. Recommended for fans of Spanish horror movies, Shrew’s Nest screens this coming Monday (11/2) at the Walter Reade, as part of Scary Movies 9.

Witching & Bitching: Patriarchy Gets Slow Roasted with Potatoes

Where’s the mean old Generalissimo when Spain really needs him? Instead, male patriarchy’s last line of defense against a cult of cannibal witches will be two bumbling crooks and the cabbie they hijacked. Bedlam ensues in Álex de la Iglesia’s truly bonkers Witching & Bitching (trailer here), which opens tomorrow—late night—at the IFC Center.

The town of Zugarramurdi is sort of like Spain’s Salem, except it seems the witches still run the joint. An odd series of circumstances will bring Jose and Tony there at a particularly inopportune time. After their hold-up went down spectacularly badly, they commandeered Manuel’s cab, stashing his profoundly unlucky fare in the trunk. Of course, being a good father, Jose brought his son Sergio along. Unfortunately, he perfectly fits the bill for the apocalyptic ceremony presided over by Granciana Barrenetxea, the leader of the coven. However, the lads are a bit slow to realize their predicament, because they are so busy drooling and bickering over Barrenetxea’s daughter, Eva. However, Sergio’s disappearance soon snaps them out of it.

Perhaps to make amends for the dour and stilted As Luck Would Have It, de la Iglesia doubles down on physical comedy and gore. The resulting vibe could be considered something like The Evil Dead, by way of Mel Brooks. Few horror films were ever so hyper-active and eager to please. Simply maintaining the manic energy level represents quite a cinematic feat.

For those who know their Spanish cinema, Witching is practically It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad World. For everyone else, Carolina Bang utterly steals the show as the punky Eva. She delivers a wickedly sly, sexually super-charged performance in the tradition of Eva Green’s near redemption of Dark Shadows. Most of the rest of the cast serve as de la Iglesia’s puppets, getting tossed in every which direction, but Almodovar regular Carmen Maura (Pepa in Women on the Verge) adds a touch of class as Barrenetxea.

Witching is one of those all too rare films that so enjoys its own lunacy, it loses sight of its message. While clearly intended to satirize male chauvinism, it sort of winds up celebrating the resiliency of patriarchy. That is a good thing, because it means de la Iglesia was paying closer attention to the blood, guts, and gags than the teaching moments and take-aways. Thoroughly recommended for those who enjoy their comedy broad and macabre, Witching & Bitching screens just after midnight this Friday (6/13) and Saturday (6/14) at the IFC Center, with further weekday screenings to follow at select times.