Some short films are good in that they could easily be features, others are good in that they fill out their reduced form just right. Pedro Almodóvar’s Strange Way of Life fits somewhere between the two: a movie with a scope to its storytelling and drama that could be much more expansive and yet conforms to its limited parameters in a very fulfilling way. It leaves you wanting more and yet it is complete -and I think that dichotomy is really good for it.
It’s also clearly an excuse for Almodóvar to make an old-fashioned western, something he is clearly delighted by given all the staples of the genre he manages to incorporate: the old shanty town and a ranch on the border, the sheriff and outlaw, a Mexican stand-off. And his actors, Ethan Hawke and Pedro Pascal are having a blast too. But mixed in with the cowboy fun is a heartfelt queer love story that Almodóvar illustrates with his characteristic tenderness.
Hawke plays Jake, the sheriff of Buggy Creek, and Pascal is the gunslinger Silva. They were lovers some twenty-five years ago who meet again when Silva’s son Joe (George Steane) murders Jake’s sister-in-law -with whom Jake had had an affair before his brother’s death. Despite the deep feelings the two old guns still feel for each other, they are forced by this circumstance to be at odds -each duty-bound to avenge a death and protect a son respectively.
That shadow of masculine responsibility hangs over the relationship, both in their sense of purpose and their outward character. They are both trapped in effect by their obligations, and only Silva is modestly capable of seeing it that way –even as he acts on it just as much as Jake. But it is what makes him more willing and capable to act on feelings, while Jake would rather keep them down. It’s apparent in their initial dinner scene together, where Jake is diplomatic about their past until the moment comes where he can’t resist it.
And we see the context of their past, in a handful of brief flashbacks juxtaposed against each of them riding through the night: a surrender to passion in their youth while in a moment of hetero-presenting hedonism and ecstasy reminiscent of the climax of Y Tu Mamá También -loving and lustful memories that are still present to their mind. Outside of this they are discreet, the danger of their relationship a looming threat that more than once foils an impulsive action of Jake’s –but also keeps them from idyllic contentedness. It’s really compelling how Almodóvar expresses the moral conflict for these gay old souls in a way that feels deeply tied into western archetype tradition. A distinct wistfulness is there, a frontier romanticism even, in the notion of these men being masters of their own fate in this open wilderness. The movie taps into that well, the very notions set forth by the like of John Wayne and Gary Cooper. The fact that either of those men would have hated such sentiments being applied to a gay couple makes it all the more delicious.
What I’m also reminded of is Pain and Glory, Almodóvar’s best film of the last decade, in it’s own way also about ageing gay yearning, and also one in which Almodóvar employs a very tender kind of masculinity. Though they don’t hold a candle to Antonio Banderas in that movie, both Hawke and Pascal are impeccable as the conflicted old lovers. Each is perfectly believable within the context too, with Hawke especially summoning up the gravitas of the fierce and deadly sheriff even while we see in the short span of time virtually no demonstration of that implicit competency. There’s only one action scene in the whole movie and it is very sparing.
Almodóvar shoots the movie in his typical vibrant style, the colours in the set dressing and on Jake and Silva’s clothes popping nicely against the usual western aesthetics. Filmed nicely in the vivid deserts of southern Spain (just like many a revered Spaghetti Western), he lets the natural imagery and atmosphere speak for itself on occasion -especially in meditation over the end credits. And there is a graceful efficiency to his script, as it mows through stretches of plot in a digestible manner while leaving sufficient room for necessary character, reflection, and theme. His use of transition I appreciate too, especially one ellipsis through a love scene early on, a microcosm of the movie’s overall sensuality.
A comparison of this film to Brokeback Mountain is about as lazy as it is easy to make. Though dealing in similar themes, they are very markedly distinct in the way they approach their gay cowboys and the subject matter of classical western masculinity. Strange Way of Life is its own short story, and it comes from a place of specific thoughtfulness regarding the western hero, heteronormative assumptions, and a reassessment of what the poetry of the Old West could represent. It is a thoroughly interesting, evocative, and sweet little film that Almodóvar should be duly proud of.
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