Dark Habits

1983, Spain, directed by Pedro Almodóvar (original title: Entre tinieblas)

There's a scattershot quality to Dark Habits that is characteristic of Pedro Almodóvar's early films, his targets wide and his satire broad, and his plotting somewhat haphazard. However, his sense of the absurd and his unapologetic demolition of sacred cows are infectious for most of the film's running length, while the film jumps so quickly from one scene to the next that there's little time to reflect on the lack of connective tissue. There's also a powerful sense that the director is simply celebrating the freedom that came after the death of Franco; although that event was eight years in the past when Dark Habits was made, there's no doubt that his legacy continued to cast a long shadow.

The plot, such as it is, concerns a young woman who takes refuge in a convent after the death of her boyfriend from a drug overdose - only to discover that the nuns are participating in far more illicit activities than the average citizen on the outside. Almodóvar revels in taking the church down a peg or twenty, but also argues in favour of a benevolent God, who finds greatness in the imperfections and human failings celebrated by the director. He also celebrates a wonderful collection of actresses, perhaps most especially Chus Lampreave and Carmen Maura as two of the more eccentric inhabitants of the convent.

Pan's Labyrinth

2006, Mexico/Spain/US, directed by Guillermo del Toro (original title: El Laberinto del Fauno)

Guillermo del Toro's strongest movie since his début, the great vampire film Cronos, Pan's Labyrinth is an absorbing mixture of brutal realism and richly developed fantasy, set in a 1944 Spain still dealing with the aftermath of the Civil War. The obvious cinematic reference point here is Victor Erice's stunning 1973 film The Spirit of the Beehive, where another young girl mediates the violence and loss that surround her through an intense fantasy life. However, in place of Erice's spare settings, which sometimes recall Western landscapes, del Toro develops a lush visual tapestry set in a vibrant forest glade. Whether we are inside the garrison where young Ofelia is brought by her mother, or in the other world where she spends much of her time, the colours and textures are deep and warm, with flickering flames providing an inviting contrast to the cold-blooded violence that takes place outside.

The film's action is often very brutal, and the viewer is rarely spared the details that result from the use of guns, hammers and, unforgettably, a small, sharp knife; as in all of his previous films, del Toro is adept at manipulating and discomfiting his viewer, with a particular focus on blood and mucus (familiar from both Cronos and Mimic). The director doesn't neglect the human side, either, with a group of strong actors: Ivana Baquero is exceptional as the young Ofelia, while Sergi López shows again his talent for oily menace as Ofelia's ruthless stepfather, and captain of the garrison. In its conclusion, the film suggests that adults, too, need to believe in alternative existences - the religious implication is pretty clear - in order to render bearable the fact that, in this world at least, terrible things can be done by despicable people.

Common Wealth

2000, Spain, directed by Alex de la Iglesia (original title: La Comunidad)

A wacky Hitchcockian riff, Alex de la Iglesia's film is the blackest of comedies, with Carmen Maura as a real estate agent who discovers riches in an old apartment building only to find that the other tenants are determined to get their hands on the money (and they're prepared to take some pretty extreme measures to do so). The opening half-hour, during which the cash is uncovered, is laden with suspense; the direction is taut and the set design is eerily clever. The strange events that follow are amusing but certainly over-extended, straining credibility even in this outlandish genre, though the references to Hitchcock films consistently hit the mark, while de la Iglesia has a devilish sense of humor that pops up at the most unexpected moments. Carmen Maura is a standout in the lead, playing it straight in the midst of a building full of crazies, and clearly enjoying the wild antics; it's great to see that Almodóvar isn't the only Spanish director capable of creating a meaty role for an actress over 50, and a shame that American movies can't follow their lead.

El Bola

2000, Spain, directed by Achero Mañas

Spain's contemporary film production is so dominated, in English-speaking countries at least, by Pedro Almodóvar that it's refreshing to come across a film that eschews his sometimes melodramatic stylings and embraces the gritty realities of a Madrid neighborhood. El Bola (Pellet) is a kid with a rough home life whose friendship with a new kid, Alfredo, seems to offer a form of escape; his friend's unconventional father is especially appealing in comparison to his own authoritarian dad. Although the contrasts between the two homes are occasionally drawn a little too sharply, there's a powerfully humanist impulse behind director Achero Mañas's storytelling, dignifying more than one marginalized character in a manner reminiscent of Benito Zambrano's beautiful 1999 feature Solas. Like that film, El Bola is generally clear-eyed in its view of humanity, steering clear of sentiment while finding a surprising beauty in the small events of everyday life; there's also a powerful critique of the frustrations of ordinary people in their dealings with the irrational workings of officialdom. The performances throughout are excellent: the two young actors who play El Bola and Alfredo are wonderfully natural, and free of the trappings of onscreen cuteness, while Alberto Jiménez is outstanding as Alfredo's father, a part that in less capable hands might well have strained credibility.