A brief side trip from comments on my reading life, partially occasioned by the fact that I have embarked on a massive Trollope-reading project which I expect to go on for the summer and will no doubt comment on sometime soon; however, this post is about the 2002 Pedro Almodovar film “Talk To Her”, recently seen again.

This is one of those rare instances, be it book, play, film, that, having made a major impression initially, improves on a second encounter. “Talk To Her” is of course quintessentially Almodovar, providing a quirky, odd view of the human condition, the extremely strange avenues love can arrive by, and the odd, unforeseeable events in which fate takes a decisive hand. I remember thinking back in 2002: this would make a glorious “date movie”, that rare one that could, on the one hand, demonstrate to any hapless two people in search of each other that yes, indeed, miracles do happen; and on the other hand, any two people viewing this film together and have a shared appreciation of it are clearly meant for each other.

For miracles do happen, at least while you suspend your disbelief and watch this lovely film. It is about the unaccountability of attraction, friendship, deep devotion and how good results can sometimes follow actions that might seem reprehensible at the time they occur. The film is accompanied by one of the loveliest of soundtracks that is worth the price of admission all by itself: from Purcell to Antonio Carlos Jobim, the perfect sounds accompany the events as they occur. The fact that watching a dance performance or listening to Caetano Veloso perform “Cucurrucucu Paloma” in a club brings tears to the eyes of several characters in the film achieves significance in the course of the story.

Having just seen it again, this one proves once more to be my favorite Almodovar film.