Saint Peter of Pride
In Pedro x Javis, Carmen, Victoria, and Marisa are missing, but Antonio is there. The documentary series about Pedro Almodóvar produced by Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi does include Banderas. The Malaga-born actor is part of Almodóvar's early works, one of those that achieved international success, and the best of his latest: Pain and Glory . The fact that he was Pedro Almodóvar's cinematic alter ego closed the circle. In that film, Antonio is Pedro, and Pedro is a mature, homosexual, and ailing film director. There are no hiding places, no ambiguities. Although deep down, there were none in Labyrinth of Passions or Law of Desire .
When Pedro Almodóvar started appearing on lists of influential LGBTQ+ people, it was no surprise. But even if he were completely heterosexual, he should be on those rankings too: his films are an absolute benchmark, and not just for the Javis, although at times they seem to claim to be the favorite gay son and favorite student (perhaps the latter is true).
So much has been said about the Pedro-Antonio-Salvador triangle in Pain and Glory (Salvador is the name of the character in the film) that we have little insight into another of its characters: Federico. Played by Leonardo Sbaraglia , Federico is Salvador's former lover who, driven by a very cinematic coincidence, decides to see him again. Paired with a wife and the father of children he speaks of with pride, Federico is to cinematic bisexuality what Salvador is to homosexuality: an important but not tragic reality, another color of the character, a color that demands not to be repainted. Federico and Salvador (spoiler alert) meet again, recognize each other, kiss, desire each other, and say goodbye. All of their scenes in Pain and Glory are beautiful.
So were those of Antonio (Antonio Banderas) and Pablo (Eusebio Poncela) in Law of Desire , a film with which Pain and Glory is in dialogue. But Antonio and Pablo lived, if not in danger, then in tension and drama. They also inhabited a world that, to those viewing it from afar, was morbid, alluring, and aspirational. It was the 1980s, and Pedro Almodóvar was not yet an international cultural totem. His "whore and faggot" films always proudly remained so, but neither the Oscars nor Cannes had approved them. Almodóvar was a kamikaze, and Banderas was another.
I wonder if an angry spectator would have shouted "faggot!" at Banderas on the street back in the days when the acronym LGBTIQ+ didn't exist and Pride, which was only gay, was more marginal than mainstream. That some of us now use that word as a catchphrase for everything, the insult defused, the rude transformed into endearing, is wonderful. It's also very Almodóvar. Don't say Pride, say the San Pedro de Calzada de Calatrava festival, faggot.
elmundo
