Did I do that?–From the archives
“Bad Education offers up nothing as pat and comfortable as redemption; by design, it is a dark and largely pessimistic film. And yet, the film’s epilogue tells us that Enrique continues to make films with the ”same passion.” May art and spirit always prevail similarly in the face of evil.”
I wrote that?
This was my reaction after stumbling upon the above text recently, part of a film review I wrote 3 years ago for 3BlackChicks.com. As I read the review of Bad Education (La Mala Educación) in its entirety, I honestly could only recall a few snippets of the film itself, and recalled even less of the review I’d apparently written. I don’t know if this is a function of aging or the trauma of having lost my mother, father, and grandmother in 2005 (the same year this review was written) and separating from my ex that same year. Whatever the reason, whole swaths of relationships, trips, conversations, arguments, and, apparently, writing, are lost to me. If prompted, coaxed, or given a few details, I can usually conjure up what’s been forgotten, but it’s still frustrating and sometimes embarrassing not remembering the words I’ve put out into the world, in written and spoken form.
So far, I haven’t forgotten anything that has been excessively painful, shocking, or regretful upon remembering, thankfully. At worst, I’ve gotten odd glances from people who can’t believe I can’t remember (or have a hard time remembering) that really skewering but hilarious piece of gossip I shared, or that overly confident Nigerian guy I went on a Scrabble date with once. But it’s true. It’s as if whole chunks of 2004, 2005, and 2006 have been buried beneath the rubble of sadness, grief, and loss. But every now and then, I unearth pieces of those years and marvel at them, looking back at my life as if it happened to someone else.
To someone who hasn’t experienced this, it may seem like a trivial or weird thing. But “discovering” things I’ve said, done, or written, can be at once unsettling and intriguing. I actually think it’s good for me in some ways, to see myself with “new” eyes from time to time. It’s easier to appreciate myself that way, which is a big step up from the self-doubt and uncertainty that burdened and defined my life…oh, until around 2005. What’s really interesting is times when I find myself disagreeing with something I wrote or did just a few short years ago. More than once, I’ve wondered, “That really wasn’t such a big deal.” A sign of growth and change for sure, hopefully for the best.
Before I had kids, I used to read James Baldwin’s books over and over again each year. I read them one way before college, and in a completely different way after I graduated college. I’ve decided to start re-reading Baldwin again later this summer, curious to see what I take away from the books now, curious to see what these unchanging texts reveal about the changes in me.
In case you’re interested, here’s the rest of the Bad Education review. Happy reading…
The Story:
In Madrid, in the early 1980’s, a successful young director, Enrique Goded is searching newspaper headlines for inspiration for his fourth film. Enrique finds what he’s looking for, however, not on the front page, but rather in the hands of a handsome young man who rings his bell. The visitor says he is Ignacio Rodríguez, Enrique’s old friend and first love from Catholic boarding school. But it’s been sixteen years since they’ve seen each other so Ignacio doesn’t look very familiar to Enrique. Ignacio says that he is in fact no longer “Ignacio,” but rather “Ángel Andrade,” the stage name he has adopted since trading in his writing aspirations for acting. However, he has written a short story called “The Visit” and would appreciate Enrique considering it as a possible film project.
In “The Visit,” Ignacio (now Ángel) revisits his and Enrique’s school days together—cinema outings, soccer games, the ever-present threat of the predatory priests, and Enrique’s eventual expulsion from school. Ignacio/ Ángel then imagines a post-script of sorts in which he, as an adult, transforms himself into Zahara, a transvestite junkie. The story ends as the lives of Ignacio/Zahara, Enrique, and their former school principal, Father Manolo, collide with tragic results.
Enrique is intrigued by “The Visit,” and to Ignacio/Ángel’s delight, he agrees to make it his next film. Ignacio/Ángel wants to act in the film, which is fine with Enrique—until Ignacio/Ángel insists on playing the role of Zahara. Enrique balks; he feels Ignacio/Ángel is all wrong physically for the part of Zahara, too masculine. He wants Ignacio/Ángel to play a different role, not only in the film, but in real-life: he wants him to be his lover once again. The two men have a heated argument and Ignacio/Ángel storms off.
The fight leaves Enrique more perplexed than ever about his old friend, and he decides to do some checking around about him. What he discovers shocks him. Still, he reconciles with Ignacio/Ángel and proceeds with the filming of “The Visit.” Enrique is determined to learn the truth about Ignacio/Ángel, determined to figure out just how blurred the line is between fact and fiction.
The Deal:
I left the theater not really into this movie. It was by no means “I want my time back” bad, but it initially left me underwhelmed, wondering if I’d missed something, unable to articulate exactly what I thought was missing. Had I become so jaded that I could view child abuse and still look for a larger Point? Was Almodóvar’s Point artfully subtle, but I’m just too thick to grasp it? Was I put off by the (consensual) graphic man-man sex scenes? True I’d never seen such portrayals before, but they weren’t gratuitous or otherwise uncomfortable to watch.
An interesting thing happened as I considered these and other questions: I got a clearer sense of what I did appreciate about the film.
First, there was the issue of three different story/time lines (present, flashback, and “The Visit” screenplay) and the shifting points of view. This approach to the story was somewhat novel (to me, at least) and a challenge to follow. It felt a bit gimmicky for a film—and director–of this caliber. Then it dawned on me that Almodóvar’s telling the story this way was actually a nice parallel to the “nothing–and no one–is as it seems” thread running throughout the film. More importantly, this approach represents Almodóvar’s “hat’s off” to the film noir classics in whose image this film is made.
With the exception of the Martín character—who seemed to exist only to keep Enrique from talking to himself—the characters were all nicely fleshed out and portrayed aptly by the cast. Playing multiple roles (including Zahara), actor Gael García Bernal (aka That Cutie from Motorcycle Diaries and Y Tu Mamá También) exudes a complex sensuality, conveying both innocence and cunning.
As Enrique, Fele Martínez has the arduous task of not squinting at the bright light that is Gael García Bernal. He does an admirable job, however. It’s not his fault that his character is drawn somewhat enigmatically and brooding, and yet the reason for this is never made quite clear. Except for his professional successes, there’s little evidence of Enrique’s recent past, his life between boarding school and when Ignacio/Ángel pays him a visit. This does not bode well for such a central character.
***MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW***
Witnessing pedophile priests, even without any explicit depictions, is incredibly disturbing. However, visually and in terms of story, I found this part of the film to be the most compelling, as the broken lives of these characters are laid, in part, at the feet of the Church. Almodóvar gives us a wordless scene of the boys and the priests playing ball, running around in their uniforms and flowing robes. The scene is at once beautiful, infuriating, and creepy.
In flashbacks as the story of “The Visit” unfolds, Ignacio (as a boy) is the school choir’s soloist, singing masses in a voice so achingly perfect and sweet, it seems to come straight from heaven. Here, Almodóvar continues the emotional roller coaster ride with the juxtaposition of this child’s voice against the horror of the abuse he receives at the hand of Fr. Manolo. Other priests at the school may or may not have committed such violations themselves, but they definitely turned a blind eye toward Manolo’s crime. Worse, they reveled in it as evidenced by one scene in which Ignacio is made to, in essence, serenade his abuser during a dinner.
Another memorable and thought-provoking scene:
Fat Priest (after killing the scheming transvestite Zaharab): Don’t worry. There are no witnesses.
Fr. Manolo: God.
Fat Priest: Yes, but He’s on our side.
At this exchange, the audience in my theater LAUGHED. I don’t find it funny in the least that some priests and other religious leaders in the Church (and not just the Catholic Church) commit and cover up abuses in the name of the Lord. I found the exchange very believable and provocative, but not funny. Was that nervous laughter from the audience? Perhaps, but from 100+ people simultaneously? And this wasn’t a general populace crowd at the Local BigAss Multiplex. This was an “arthouse” theater.
Picky, picky, picky…
About Mr. Berenguer/Fr. Manolo…Was his unexplained cough and busted appearance supposed to suggest he had AIDS? We’ll never know…
About Zahara, the druggie cross-dresser… :::Deesha taking a big ol’ swig of Haterade:::: Am I the only sistah who resents the hell out of a transvestite who looks better than she does in a dress and heels?
**END SPOILERS**
Bottom Line: All in all, there is more to recommend Almodóvar’s foray into film noir than not. Despite the deeply emotional subject matter, Bad Education didn’t move me the way the wonderful Talk to Her (Almodóvar’s 2002 Oscar-winner for Best Screenplay) did. Almodóvar has said, “Bad Education is not a settling of scores with the priests who ‘bad-educated’ me or with the clergy in general. If I had needed to take revenge I wouldn’t have waited forty years to do so. The church doesn’t interest me, not even as an adversary.” Vengeful or not, I applaud this indictment of the religious establishment and the “bad education” in hypocrisy and exploitation it all-too-often provides.
Bad Education offers up nothing as pat and comfortable as redemption; by design, it is a dark and largely pessimistic film. And yet, the film’s epilogue tells us that Enrique continues to make films with the ”same passion.” May art and spirit always prevail similarly in the face of evil.
