Sample #2
Cinematography in “Todo Sobre Mi Madre”–Blurring Boundaries of Reality and Fiction
Professor: Gloria-Jean Masciarotte
Course: Analysis of Film Narratives LAS-E151-01
Date: 11/12/2020
Pedro Almodovar’s Todo Sobre Mi Madre opens with a series of close-ups meandering across medical machinery. Shot after shot of dials, buttons, and digits meditate on the meticulous complexity of this life-saving mechanism. The camera tilts upwards and arrives at the film’s principal character, Manuela. The opening establishes Mi Madre’s central theme–film, theatre and performance enrich lived experiences, and life ignites art and film. Throughout Mi Madre, Almodovar uses cinematography to blend boundaries between traditional binaries, from gender, performance-authenticity, to cinema-reality. For the characters in Mi Madre, there is no distinction between public and private performance; what takes place on the screen and the stage bleeds into their private lives. To convey this blurring of fictional and lived realities, Almodovar draws upon classical Hollywood cinema (CHC) principles and techniques, but also subverts it to forge his own stylistic choices and the face of a new ‘open heart’ Spanish Cinema. This essay frames Mi Madre in the system of CHC cinematographic principles. Through sequence analysis of cinematography, the essay explores Almodovar’s push and pull between traditions of filmic storytelling and his own creative decisions that subvert established principles.
Cinematography encompasses all on-screen visual elements, “including lighting, framing, composition, camera motion, lens choices, depth of field, zoom, focus, and colour” (Masterclass). Between 1920-1960, a wave of films solidified the standards of ‘classic’ Hollywood cinema, prioritising aesthetic principles that “artists did in classical Greece and Rome (…) the films aimed for balance, proportion, and symmetry” (42). Every artistic decision “must advance the narrative or character exposition” (63). The emphasis on plot relegated the techniques of filmmaking, such as editing and cinematography, to a facilitating tool. Filmmakers strove for invisibility and continuity in editing. As a rule, cameras were moved out of necessity. Filmmakers were against ‘artistic’ shots that interfered with viewer immersion. Extravagance created "a level of viewer consciousness that contradicted the Hollywood filmmaker’s aim for complete immersion in the story and characters” (52). The cultish dedication to immersion and technical perfection resulted in a “polished product providing a clear, pleasurable viewing experience that was highly marketable for mass entertainment” (Fawell, 55).
Almodovar’s films frequently explore “cinema’s power to influence spectators” (Saenz, 248). Classical directors’ denial of film’s artifice–its constructed reality and narrative–and the desire for viewer immersion in a fantasy reality–is directly related to Mi Madre. For characters like Maneula and Huma, their “on-screen off-screen realities blend together. Their sense of self is modulated through performance and theatricality” (Campbell, 32). Not only does Almodovar use CHC techniques for immersing his characters in fictional realities, he also immerses the audience in Mi Madre’s fictional Barcelona. Through the meta-textuality of this immersion, Almodovar makes the statement that cinema is the art of performance and artifice, powerfully equipped to blur the boundaries between reality and fiction.
Almodovar borrows several CHC principles to evoke cinematic immersiveness. Most of Mi Madre’s cinematography is built around a simple shot–a classic two-shot in medium close-up (MCU), with the characters front-facing the audience. Other camera moves are used to facilitate movement between these MCUs. Almodovar’s camera movement is sparse; he has often remarked how “reluctant he is to move the camera without good cause,” (Julian-Smith, 356) much like classical Hollywood directors. Many sequences in Mi Madre are introduced with “slow pans along walls, floors and curtains.” The pans suggest his characters are “caught up in the web of accidents that make up everyday life and cannot be extricated from the highly coloured locations they inhabit” (Campbell, 34). “The visual hallmark of Hollywood’s sense of balance is the classical composition around a group of three, framed with balance and symmetry” (Fawell, 42). Almodovar takes direct cues from this rule, as women are frequently shot in threes and pairs; they are rarely alone. Through a reference to CHC, the shots speak to the intimacy of the female community. The ease at which characters permeate the narrative space–moving into the camera and moving out–reflects the film’s belief in Blanche’s line–“I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers.” The central female characters exhibit a balance between individuality and solidarity. Their community is permeable but protective, built upon a foundation of compassion and open communication.
Furthering the Hollywood ideals of balance and symmetry is the shot-reverse-shot (SRS), which Almodovar reserves for shooting conversations. The effect is bold and upfront; by placing the characters in the centre of the screen, facing the audience in medium close-up, it creates the illusion that the characters are directly addressing the audience. A key scene that uses the SRS is 59:23, where Huma delivers Esteban’s autograph. When Agrado enters the scene, Manuela's apartment is bursting with riveting conversation. The camera is centred on the woman speaking, while eye-line matches connect the speaker to the listener. The shots are close-ups; intimate portraits that luxuriate in the nuances of the women’s gestures, expressions, make-up, and clothing. Like CHC mise-en-scene, details are deliberate extensions of character personalities. The use of close-ups heighten the performative aspect of expression. Almodovar also tends to film within the space of a conversation, which adds to the immersive, intimate appeal of Manuela’s world.
As much as Almodovar takes from CHC, he uses its immersive cinematography to make a statement about cinematic artifice. Mi Madre subverts CHC more than it borrows–the most obvious being the denial of the male gaze. The magic of the Hollywood style “rises from its satisfying manipulation of visual pleasure, but when unchallenged, mainstream film coded the erotic into the language of the dominant patriarchal order” (Mulvey, 2). The male gaze has no place in Mi Madre. The film’s meta-textuality and cinematography amplifies the act of watching and questions the viewer’s gaze. One scene directly challenging the CHC gaze is Agrado’s skit at 1:16:38, where she entertains an audience expecting Huma’s performance of Streetcar. With a flash of theatre lights, Agrado stands in the centre of the stage, sandwiched between the auditorium curtains and a sea of expectant theatre-goers. The scene is framed as a wide/long shot exhibiting Agrado’s entire body. She is dressed simply, illuminated by a directional “star-lighting, that heightens the performer’s charisma” (Belton, 55). The camera zooms in on Agrado till the wide/long shot becomes the default MCU shot. The theatricality of the zoom draws attention to itself and the act of looking, especially at a trans-female body in cinema. One could argue that “the crowd, more bestial than ever, wants to tear apart” Agrado the monster, just like “the phantom of the Opera because of his monstrosity” (Williams, 87). But the confidence at which she performs, the centre framing, red backdrop, and spotlight makes her the most self-actualised woman. “Through her performance of self-invention and self-authentication, Agrado represents the successful creation of an alternative reality in which gender differences are blurred” (Eggert, 392). She ‘writes herself,’ taking ownership of her body. Through its stylised cinematography, Mi Madre subverts CHC’s legacy of the male gaze that insidiously dominated the act of looking, and by extension cinematographic techniques.
Mi Madre also challenges Hollywood’s disdain for artifice and disruption. Almodovar embraces the artifice of filmmaking, deliberately introducing elements of kitschy extravagance to the mise-en-scene. “Private spaces are as constructed as theatre sets” (Campbell, 34). Huma’s set of A Streetcar Named Desire contrasts domestic artefacts (i.e. the dinner table, couch) against a piercing blue backdrop. Manuela’s apartment exhibits the same artificiality; the campy patterned wallpaper is a backdrop to her garish yellow furniture. This paralleling of reality with theatre is extended to the cinematography, in that there is no difference between how a play or film is shot and how ‘reality’ is shot. For example, Rosa reveals her pregnancy to Manuela at 42:58. The two women are seated on a couch directly facing the audience. The garish wallpaper becomes their theatre backdrop. The flatness of the shot parallels the set of a TV sitcom or Huma’s theatre. By framing the melodramatic pregnancy reveal like a play, the film also argues that the theatre is a vessel of memories and emotions, felt through the bodies of audiences and performers. The dialogue between life and play creates a synergy; life can be felt more intensely through a play, and a play draws upon life for emotional depth. It also reflects upon the repetition and coincidence of trauma that is repeated offstage and onstage through Manuela, whose life is marked by Stella from Streetcar.
CHC principles prided themselves over “the importance of every shot, joke, plot element contributing to the film as a whole. No shot should be so extravagant that they interfere with the logic and wholeness of the story (Fawell, 48). Key scenes in Mi Madre deliberately disrupt the rhythm of the narrative. For example, at 12:51, “as Esteban disappears out of frame to chase after Huma’s taxi, the simple elegance of the (MCU and SRS) technique is abruptly shattered. The camera lurches out of control, so that in the next shot it takes a moment to register Manuela running from the side of the screen towards her son’s prone body (Campbell, 33). Traumatic events break the rhythm of ‘seeing’ as the POV shifts from third to first person. Additionally, certain shots are deliberately extravagant–dissolves and camera effects overlay images to emphasise the intertextual relationship of images. At 36:38, Rosa gazes at Esteban’s notebook, and the film cuts to an insert of the book cover. The notebook dissolves into a shot of theatre lights, and the camera tracks downwards, scaling Huma’s monolithic portrait. A relationship is drawn between Esteban and the theatre–the indirect cause of his death and the source of Manuela’s obsession. Manuela will use her performance as Stella in Streetcar as inspiration and catharsis for the pain of losing her son.
Another crucial way that Almodovar breaks immersion is the playful use of offscreen space. The technique has two effects: it portrays Esteban as a ghost, lingering on the borders of the screen (offscreen space)… and two, it toys with the idea of a screen within a screen; a play within a film. At 36:56, Manuela compulsively buys tickets for Streetcar as a private ritual for mourning her son. After she receives the tickets, she looks directly at the camera, but her gaze is elsewhere. The film cuts to a MCU shot of Esteban behind metal bars. He also gazes back at the audience and his mother. The eye-line match implies that mother and son are connected by the unspoken dialogue of their gaze. Through the simplicity of this SRS, the film suddenly extends across time, space, and memory. A similar technique is used at 58:36, where Manuela confesses Esteban’s death to Huma and Nina. As Manuela chokes through her tears–“he wanted your autograph”–the SRS cuts back to the actresses. Huma is clearly disturbed, and the whisper of the memory lures her to look offscreen. With the turn of her head, the film flashbacks to the exact shot at 12:38, where Esteban desperately bangs against the taxi window asking for Huma’s autograph. The sound of Esteban’s knocks come before the cut, and lingers after the flashback ends. These scenes are part of many instances where Almodovar breaks continuity with an intrusive shot entering from an unpredictable off-screen space.
To emphasise the blurring of reality and fiction, Almodovar interweaves clips from other films, recordings and stage performances with footage of Manuela’s life. The dialogue between the characters watching television screens and theatre sets are shot like an actual conversation using SRS, which emphasises the act of watching. This is established early-on in the film. At 04:27, Manuela and Esteban watch All About Eve over dinner. There is a SRS dialogue between the television screen and the mother and son watching it. The initial reverse-shot of the television shows the borders of the television, but after a few more cuts, direct footage from All About Eve is inserted into the fabric of Mi Madre. Almodovar’s film effectively becomes a screen within a screen, and a film within a film. Not only is footage inserted into Mi Madre, Almodovar’s characters are also inserted into films. At 08:04, the film cuts to a clip of Manuela’s performance as a widow donating her husband’s organs. The audience watches this through the filtered screens of the television, but the larger context is unclear. As the recording rewinds, the reality of the filtered screen is broken, and the camera pulls back to reveal the sides of the television and a conference of doctors watching Manuela’s performance. Almodovar complicates the narrative space by splicing clips into Mi Madre’s actual footage, creating a layered intertextuality that references CHC whilst forging a new voice.
In conclusion, through the playful use of cinematography, Mi Madre blurs the distinction between “lived reality and theatrical performance” (Campbell, 33). Almodovar balances CHC cinematographic techniques but subverts it to explore new realms of meta-textuality and the relationships between films and spectatorship, performance and authenticity. For the characters in Mi Madre, the city and the theatre are interdependent spaces. Just as Manuela draws upon her own experiences to enrich her performance as Stella, her pain of losing Esteban is reincarnated as a theatrical adaptation by Huma. The film uses classical principles of composition and cinematic immersion, but subverts Hollywood’s privileged white male gaze, fear of artifice and excess. Almodovar’s playful use of narrative space, mise-en-scene, and framing blurs cinema with life and signals a departure from traditional dualisms. Through Mi Madre, Almodovar has proclaimed his love for cinema, of artifice–through Lola’s words: “I have always been excessive.”
Bibliography
All about My Mother / Todo Sobre Mi Madre. Dir. Pedro. Almodóvar. By Pedro. Almodóvar. Perf. Cecilia Roth, Antonia San Juan, Penelope Cruz, Marisa Paredes, Candela Pena. 1999. Web. 2020.
Belton, John. American Cinema/American Culture. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill Education, 2018. Print.
Campbell, Hugh. "Open Heart City: Intimacy and Spectacle in the Films of Pedro Almodovar." Architectural Assocation School of Architecture 51 (2005): 30-35. Print.
Eggert, Viki Zavales. "Authentic Monsters and Artificial Monsters: Maternal Frustration in Pedro Almodovar's "All About My Mother"." Literature/Film Quarterly 1 (2014): 386-97. Print.
Fawell, John Wesley. The Hidden Art of Hollywood: In Defense of The Studio Era Film. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2008. Print.
Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure And Narrative Cinema." Screen 16 (1975): 6-18. Print.
Saenz, Noelia. A Companion to Pedro Almodóvar. Ed. Marvin D'Lugo and Kathleen M. Vernon. Malden, MA: John Wiley & Sons, 2013. Print.
Smith, Paul Julian. Desire Unlimited: The Cinema of Pedro Almodóvar. London: Verso, 2014. Print.