I’m So Excited (Los amantes pasajeros)
Directed by Pedro Almodovar
Written by Pedro Almodovar
2013, Spain
For three decades, Pedro Almodovar has been the most internationally successful purveyor of queer cinema. His first film, 1980’s Pepi, Luci, Bom and Other Girls on the Heap, was released just two years before Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s too-soon swan-song, Querelle. Though the directors possess distinctly different approaches to the medium (Almodovar hasn’t yet gone sci-fi ala World on A Wire, for instance), their films were among the first brashly and unapologetically queer films that were both critically accepted and widely seen. Fassbinder’s films, operating under the New German Cinema umbrella, aggressively proclaimed their institutional critique by way of difficult, at times unpalatable imagery (Remember In A Year of Seven Moons?), while Almodovar’s commentary is often, but no less importantly, couched beneath the artifice of camp and melodrama. Because Almodovar oftentimes uses tragicomedy as a narrative device, the intimacy and sheer likeability of his characters can, at times, overshadow the profound discourse inserted within each of his films. His newest, the joyously over-the-top I’m So Excited, is another such effort that is both delightful to watch yet deceptively discursive.
The conceit for Excited is a silly one, akin to something you’d see in the fourth season of a successful television sitcom, including the pre-show commercial tag. Action begins on the tarmac of the Madrid airport, when the luggage cart Jessica (Penelope Cruz) is driving runs over one of her co-workers, alerting her boyfriend, Leon ( Antonio Banderas), to come rushing over. The third party is slightly injured, but his primary concern is tweeting and texting about the incident, not seeking medical treatment. Once together, Jessica tells Leon about the new baby the couple is expecting, resulting in the sort of untimely confession that has become commonplace in Almodovar films. It’s almost a slapstick setup in the vein of a working-class comedy like The King of Queens, only with A-list stars, lots of queer characters, and high-end production value.
From here the tone remains light and frothy, as the remainder of the comedic thrust takes place on a Peninsula Airlines flight to Mexico City. The plane is naturally divided into three distinct spaces: cockpit/flight attendant area, first class, economy/second class. In terms of the natural order of things, it’s the sort of understood hierarchy one often takes for granted when flying, but Almodovar sees it as a ripe opportunity for social commentary. More on that later.
On the plane, a trio of gay male stewards intermittently services both the first class passengers and the two pilots in the cockpit. They utilize their work environment to hem and haw about any and everything, treating it as veritable Sunday brunch with friends. In true Almodovar fashion, there’s nothing fettered about this bunch: in between gossip, they drink vodka and snort cocaine, all the while casually reminiscing about sexual exploits. One of the stewards, Joserra (Javier), is the openly-discussed, longstanding lover of Alex (Antonio De La Toree), the married pilot. The co-pilot, hunky Benito (Hugo Silva) is “straight,” although he did drunkenly fellate Alex once before, a fact which Joserra brings up often.
About those first-class passengers, the one thing they have in common is secrets. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Norma (a delicious Cecilia Roth) is hell-on-heels; she runs a successful S&M escorting business. Bruna (Lola Duenas), a row in front of her, is a pseudo-medium who’s virginity is in tact well into her mid-30s. Then there’s a tall dark and handsome “security” man, an anxious hedge-fund manager, and a philandering television actor who’s girlfriend, both current and ex, has a bone to pick with the him. It’s a diverse bunch drawn together by an extremely extenuating circumstance.
Almodovar manipulates the action through a flight that literally seems unending: because of a problem with the landing gear, thanks to Cruz and Banderas’s error, the plane circles the nearest airport for hours until the runway is clear for its potentially problematic descent. While the passengers in coach have been ruffied to sleep during the flight, those in first-class enjoy cocktails and the privilege of lodging complaints about poor service- and entry in the cockpit to complain some more. During this extended suspension, the passengers slowly reveal their proclivities (some sexual, but not all) and double-lives; an ultimate bonding experience.
Thanks to a snappy visual pallette and punchy dialogue, the film proceeds mostly as a comedy in the highest Almodovar order. By the time the plane is cleared for landing and the passengers descend to the runway, they’ve been able to shed the skin of expectations, albeit briefly, to rid themselves of any shame they may feel in the “real world” down below.
Part of what makes Almodovar so wonderfully unique is that his texts are almost entirely free from the shackles of innuendo: his characters engage in hedonistic pursuits with enviable free-spiritedness. Like the best melodramatists, Almodovar’s meaning derives through a perfect storm of artifice and undiluted respect for his characters. While this film is the lightest, most brashly sexual comedy he’s made in well over a decade, there’s still insightful takeaways.
By bouying the characters in an environment mostly free of convention, they are free to proclaim their identities loudly and proudly, even the parts that might be harder to digest. Almodovar creates a dialectical universe, the clouds and the ground, in which the chasm between want and need is fully exploited: in the air the characters freely discuss their wants (through the help of some drugs and alcohol, of course), while the life they speak of on the ground seems burdensome. The comraderie they forge is a metaphor for Almodovar’s ideal world, one in which people accept one another for who they are. As in his best comedies such as Law of Desire or Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, any discursive innuendo in I’m So Excited occurs post-factum, allowing his films to be enjoyed on both an experiential, immediate level, as well as on an intellectual level when reflecting on the film.
I’m So Excited is lighter by design (yes, the title derives from the song by the Pointer Sisters, and yes there is a fabulous song and dance number that accompany it), a welcome change of pace from the director’s more serious fare of late. Featuring a who’s-who of Almodovar regulars, it’s a comfortable entry into an already impressive catalogue of boundary-pushing.
– John Ourlser