It’s interesting to think what the 80s or 90s version of Pedro Almodóvar’s Parallel Mothers would be. Its’ premise, which centres on two mothers who give birth on the same day only to later find that their babies were accidentally swapped, is a natural comedy idea that might be right at home in the farcical sensibilities of something like Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. Certainly it’s been done before in that format. But Almodóvar has tended more serious as he’s gotten older, and after his beautiful self-reflective Pain and Glory, there was no doubt he would choose to explore more intimately the human drama of whatever circumstance he tackled next. And one such as this is particularly emotionally tense and traumatizing -even as Almodóvar heightens its’ details several degrees.
That is not a criticism, in fact the artificial elements that pop up in Parallel Mothers are among its’ most gripping qualities. They and of course the performance of his frequent muse Penélope Cruz, the outside favourite of this years’ Best Actress race and for good reason. It’s a movie that knows what you might expect from its’ plot, but takes it in some subversive directions that are quite interesting, emotionally complex, and dramatically exciting.
Perhaps the first big noticeable example of this is the general absence of men in this story of motherhood. Cruz’s Janis, a professional photographer, had an affair with a married archaeologist Arturo (Israel Elejalde) that resulted in the pregnancy, but she fairly quickly cuts him off to raise her daughter herself -as has been the tradition of her family, with which she is obsessed. Her counterpart Ana (Milena Smit) similarly without a father figure, was made to go through a pregnancy that was the outcome of rape. And so aside from Janis occasionally contacting Arturo, there are no men in either of their lives post-delivery and the movie itself isn’t much concerned with that. Moreover, it seems to be a matter of personal pride that Janis brings up Cecilia alone -or at least alone with the aid of a nanny whom she is well-off enough to employ. Indeed there’s a level of privilege that courses through the movie and seems connected with the relative independence of Janis, and it’s one that threatens to turn her into Ana’s mother (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón), an impassioned actress struggling to reconcile her career with her desire to be more present for her daughter. In a movie about mothers, she’s the one who perhaps low-key casts the largest shadow.
Almodóvar plays it like a thriller the gradual process that leads to Janis discovering Cecilia isn’t hers, starting with the hint in Arturo noting the childs’ lack of any resemblance to him and her proceeding with an online maternity test conducted in secret. When she finds out she hides the truth, changes her phone number, and pretends that nothing is wrong until Ana resurfaces in her life with the dark news that her child (though really Janis’) to whom she did indeed grow attached, suffered a crib death. Cruz plays aptly the hidden grief in this as Almodóvar shifts these characters towards the inevitable reveal. And it almost feels like Hitchcock, the way he draws that out while adding layers of complexity onto their relationship, beginning with Janis offering Ana a job as her new live-in maid, bringing biological mother and daughter closer -a way of alleviating that guilt perhaps. It’s a really enticing dynamic that despite being built on deceit Almodóvar allows to grow endearing. From Cecilia sparks the root of a genuine bond that creates significant stakes for these women, and an incoming tragedy for when the bough breaks. In the meantime Cruz and Smit share a stirring chemistry and are fantastic stylistic counterparts on top of that.
Smit delivers a terrific performance through her muted demeanour of shameful dependence and closeted trauma. She can convey that underlying misery that haunts this young woman, makes her vulnerable while at the same time prone to starkness in her boundaries -she has no problem cutting off the figures of her old life once she moves in with Janis. Ana is a pitiable character, a sympathetic and emboldened one though, and Smit plays it wonderfully. That she is nonetheless drowned out by Cruz’s performance speaks to the sheer excellence of that veteran actress’ turn in this, one of her career highlights. She encapsulates the devastation and desperation of the circumstances, even in the moments where she has to keep them subdued. Janis is a woman used to a sense of control in her life and that order is thrown into disarray first with the initial revelation and then the re-acquaintance with Ana. But what’s interesting is the choice to open her world to Ana, to essentially share Cecilia and much of her life with her is her own, inviting the complexities and trauma that comes along with it. Seemingly it’s borne out of a deep sympathy and affection, which is intriguing, and it’s a balancing act that Cruz performs wonderfully. She is just as exceptional in these layered acts of humanity as in the more crushing sequences. Every facet of the character feels lived in.
That includes her preoccupation that forms a background subplot of the film, until it is brought forth as a primary focal point for the conclusion. And sadly, it doesn’t much gel with the motherhood storyline. The thing that brings Janis and Arturo together initially is her interest in his excavating a site in her home village, believed to be the unmarked grave of her great-grandfather and several others killed during the purges of the Spanish Civil War. That history and her feelings about her great-grandfather linger nonchalantly through the film, until in the last act Almodóvar shifts gears from the motherhood theme to explicitly re-contextualizing the film around the lingering trauma of the Franco regime. It ends with the bizarre insinuation this was what the film had been about, the Ana-Cecilia side of the story being quietly resolved -as though Almodóvar was Trojan Horsing a politically contentious film on reckoning with a history of fascism inside a more conventional drama. And that’s a noble endeavour for sure, but he doesn’t pull it off -in part through how compelling that greater story is and how little it intertwines with this second hidden narrative, apart from a couple moments like when Janis chastises Ana for being ignorant of her country’s history.
It’s a choice that makes the film considerably less cohesive, but is not enough to break it. As pertaining to that main story, the focus shift resolves it in a kind of muted understanding that fits, if it comes in a bit of an awkward place. The turns that it takes up to that point though, the creative ways the drama is integrated, as well as the strong performances and fully formed characters highlighted by Almodóvar’s vibrant aesthetic that makes the film pop, keep it engaging and ensure it escapes the kind of messiness that would no doubt occur in such an attempt by a lesser filmmaker.
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