Strange Way of Life (2023)
Lust in the Dust
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
Since his feature filmmaking debut in 1980, Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar has celebrated LGBTQ+ culture in his own way, with a great deal of camp and sensuality.
His characters are often women or openly gay men, and their stories are soap-opera-vogue, with plenty of splashes of red to underscore burning passions. (More than a few of his films have nabbed the dreaded NC-17 rating, for their bold, unhindered sexual material.)
His latest film, the handsome, bittersweet Strange Way of Life, differs from his filmography in several ways. It's arguably his first flat-out study of masculinity.
It's also a pocket-sized Western, running only thirty-one minutes, and showcasing costumes by executive producer Anthony Vaccarello of Saint Laurent.
Ethan Hawke and Pedro Pascal (The Last of Us) co-star as, what would seem on the surface, two most un-Almodóvar-like characters.
Hawke plays Jake, the sheriff of a small town called Bitter Creek. He is preparing to hunt down a man who murdered his brother's wife.
In the door walks Silva (Pascal), who has crossed the desert to see Jake. When the men's glances first meet, they are unable to suppress affectionate smiles. The smiles quickly disappear, replaced by business.
They haven't seen each other in 25 years. It soon becomes apparent that their relationship goes much deeper than that of platonic trail-riding cow-punchers of the Old West.
Jake invites Silva to dinner. Wine is served. This leads to a sensuous encounter, and, the next morning: a question. What is Silva really doing there?
Things lead up to a three-way standoff involving Jake, Silva, and the killer.
It might be noted that Almodóvar does not exactly handle this sequence in a classic Western manner. Unlike John Ford or a Budd Boetticher, he's not interested in landscape and how it reflects the psychology of the characters, and unlike Sam Peckinpah, he's not interested in the clashing of the Old West and modern civilization.
Indeed, some of Strange Way of Life can sometimes feel a little awkward, like an intruder on strange territory. Yet, it can be argued that this is part of the filmmaker's signature style.
To get at the truth of his situations, Almodóvar regularly, seamlessly merges subtle performances — such as the likes of Penélope Cruz in Volver or Antonio Banderas in Pain and Glory — with campier work via his regular cast members like the larger-than-life Rossy de Palma, who may be to Almodóvar what Divine was to John Waters.
In a feature-length Almodóvar, we can eventually become used to this "language," but in this short, with so little time to acclimate, it can feel a bit alien, a bit off.
That's why the casting of Hawke and Pascal feels just right. The men bring a grizzled history to their roles, proving emotional subtleties that can be read, and do not require outright expressing.
For perspective, Almodóvar juxtaposes their scenes with a flashback of young Jake and Silva during their rowdy, care-free days.
Hanging out with three pretty senoritas, they decide to play target practice with a wineskin. After poking a few holes, they all duck under the streams of flowing red wine. Carried away, Jake and Silva being licking the wine from each other's wet faces, an act that turns to kissing. The three ladies discreetly excuse themselves.
Unlike the closeted sex of Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain, this unashamed attraction between the men is shown to be open, and natural.
Meeting twenty-five years later — a reunion Jack and Ennis never got to have — it's still there for Jake and Silva, but mixed with maturity, the weariness of life lived.
Love between men, Almodóvar seems to suggest, doesn't need to be so crudely defined by such things as gayness or sex. It can be about companionship, and, just maybe, a little tenderness.
(Note: the film will play in theaters alongside Almodóvar's previous short, the 30-minute The Human Voice, from 2020, starring Tilda Swinton.)
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