Matador
Watching Matador you can feel Almodóvar revving up, even if the engine coughs a bit. Death, sex and Catholic guilt are already in a tangle: a retired bullfighter turned instructor, a nervy law student and a lawyer who treats killing as foreplay all orbit each other in this little thriller. From the VHS horror-wank opening to the blood-red final embrace, it’s messy, but never dull.
A young Antonio Banderas is already very good as the jittery Ángel, all repression and nosebleeds, and you can see why Almodóvar kept going back to him. The bold colours, morbid gags and blunt link between desire and violence are pure early Almodóvar, and there are images here most directors would build a whole film around.
I just never quite connected with it. The characters feel more like ideas than people, the story lurches rather than flows, and some of the sexual politics now land with a wince. An intriguing early sketch: gap filled, not one I’m desperate to revisit.
A young Antonio Banderas is already very good as the jittery Ángel, all repression and nosebleeds, and you can see why Almodóvar kept going back to him. The bold colours, morbid gags and blunt link between desire and violence are pure early Almodóvar, and there are images here most directors would build a whole film around.
I just never quite connected with it. The characters feel more like ideas than people, the story lurches rather than flows, and some of the sexual politics now land with a wince. An intriguing early sketch: gap filled, not one I’m desperate to revisit.
Mini Review: Watching Matador you can feel Almodóvar revving up, even if the engine coughs a bit. A retired bullfighter, a nervy law student and a killer lawyer orbit each other in a tangle of sex, death and Catholic guilt. A young Antonio Banderas is already very good, and the bold colours and morbid gags are pure early Almodóvar. I just never quite connected: intriguing sketch, gap filled, not one I’ll rush to revisit.