Part Of The Picture: Of Woman Bondage

OF WOMAN BONDAGE

MAY 9, 2009 – RARELY, IN A FIRST FEATURE, have so many shock bombs been hurled at the bastions of good taste – an advertising pitch for a menstruating doll, a golden shower at a kitchen table, a gauzy television commercial for a feminine product that converts flatulence to fragrance, and a penis-measuring contest (named, inevitably, “General Erections”) where the result is decided with utmost precision, “by multiplying the length with the thickness.” In the case of another filmmaker, these pencil-in-the-eye provocations could be dismissed as the frantic hand-flailing of a newbie wanting to be noticed for something, anything. But when it’s Almodóvar, the distance of time (and his subsequent films, including the mature-period masterpieces) helps us see that these apparent titillations are but pointers to a career where no human endeavour, however bizarre and perverse, is undeserving of an empathetic eye and a warm embrace.

After being raped by a policeman (Félix Rotaeta), Pepi (Carmen) swears revenge – not because of the act itself, but because she had intended to sell her virginity to the highest bidder and now a potentially lucrative income generator lies thoughtlessly destroyed. One evening, she enlists a group of friends to beat up the policeman. They do – but the next morning, when he exits his house, there’s not a scratch on him. Pepi doesn’t know that the unfortunate victim was the policeman’s twin, who now lies swathed in bandages, and she therefore mutters to herself, from across the street, “There isn’t a mark on him. We’ll see about that.” She observes that his wife, Luci (Eva Siva), is behind him. “I can’t let her get away. I have to say something. But how can I start speaking to her?”

Then her eyes land on Luci’s jersey, and Pepi gets her answer. She bumps into the unsuspecting housewife and exclaims, “What a lovely jersey you’re wearing.” Luci is pleased. She says she made it herself. Pepi declares, “That’s amazing. You could teach me to knit.” Luci has never considered such a thing, but Pepi encourages her new acquaintance. “Well, think about it. I live around here. I’d pay you plenty.” Luci is still hesitant. Pepi urges, “You could make a living from it.” Soon, an explanatory title card, perhaps inspired by the work of another enfant terrible of international cinema (Godard, who employed intertitles to introduce the episodes in Vivre Sa Vie), announces: “Next morning, Pepi has her first lesson.” The scene that follows is the very image of cozy domesticity, two women bent over their knitting.

Pepi describes her attempts at the new craft. “Look, help me. I put the needle in, put the wool round, and there’s the stitch.” Pepi smiles contentedly at her handiwork, but Luci argues, “No, not like that. You were doing it to the right and now you’re going backwards.” Pepi is annoyed. “What does it matter if it’s only for practice?’ Luci insists, “If you know how to do it, why are you doing it backwards?” Pepi has had enough. “You’re ruining my knitting,” she sulks, and begins to put her needles away. “Some teacher!” Luci appears to be offended. “I’m not a teacher,” she replies. “And you’re not paying attention.” Suddenly, Pepi begins to rap Luci on the shoulder. Luci, naturally, is taken aback. Pepi smirks, “Every time I make a mistake, I’ll hit you. That way I’ll learn.”

And ever so slowly, the scene takes a startling (although from today’s vantage, entirely Almodóvarian) turn. “You’re right,” Luci remarks with a shy smile. “I need a good slap.” Pepi’s eyes light up at this confession. Poking Luci with her knitting needle, she teases, “Well! That’s your kind of thing.” When Luci asks how she guessed, Pepi replies, “Your eyes are shining, you dirty bitch.” The matronly Luci looks down at her knitting and reveals a decidedly unmatronly side to her. “Some things you have to accept. That’s why I married him. I thought that as a cop, he’d treat me like a dog. Some hope. He respects me like his mother.” Pepi, who hasn’t forgotten about her revenge, prods Luci. “You shouldn’t trust him.” But Luci isn’t listening. “I’m furious,” she says.

Pepi assures her, “Don’t worry. As long as we do our knitting classes, you’ll get your slaps just the way you like it, you crazy, dirty, bitch.” Luci is delighted. She discloses, “I’m all wet just thinking about it.” Having taken Pepi to her heart, Luci enquires, “So what do you do?” Pepi says, “I’m an heiress but my parents are sick of giving me money. They’ve told me to fend for myself.” Luci asks, “So what will you do now.” Pepi grimaces. “I thought about selling my virginity but I was raped, so that’s no good.” Luci remarks, “Well, at least you had some fun.” Pepi is not amused. “I’d have had much more fun with the 60,000 ptas I’d have sold it for,” she snaps. Luci shakes her head. “One woman’s meat is another’s poison.”

Pepi steals a glance at Luci. She says, “I just want revenge on the guy who raped me.” Then, as the doorbell rings, she blithely confesses to her new friend, “Why should I lie to you? It was your husband.” Pepi rises to get the door. Luci is shocked – but for reasons not instantly apparent. “My husband,” she mutters. And then, “I should be so lucky.” There’s no horror over the revelation that Pepi was raped. There’s no outrage that the perpetrator was Luci’s husband. There’s no scandal over Luci’s masochistic impulses. There’s no indication to the audience, either, whether it’s okay to laugh – because while the occurrences are indubitably heavy, the treatment is so mischievously light. It’s just another judgment-free day in Almodóvarland, as women on the verge bond over the curveballs that life keeps throwing at them.

Pepi, Luci, Bom y Otras Chicas del Montón (1980, Spanish; aka Pepi, Luci, Bom). Directed by Pedro Almodóvar. Starring Carmen Maura, Félix Rotaeta, Olvido Gara, Eva Siva.

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Posted in: Cinema: Foreign