GLI AMANTI PASSEGGERI: PEDRO ALMODOVAR SI CONCEDE ALLA COMMEDIA SULL'ONDA DELLA RIEVOCAZIONE DEGLI ANNI OTTANTA, LO SPACCATO TEMPORALE DI MAGGIOR LIBERTA' IN SPAGNA. L'OMAGGIO-METAFORA DELLA SOCIETA' SPAGNOLA CONTEMPORANEA ACCLUDE GLI ELISIR ASSUNTI DAI PERSONAGGI NELLA LETTERATURA CLASSICA CON SORPRENDENTI CONSEGUENZE SUL PIANO COMPORTAMENTALE

Un gruppo di passeggeri di prima classe sull’aereo che vola verso Città del Messico si accorgono di un’anomalia. Tutti i passeggeri e le hostess della classe economica dormono profondamente. I tre steward gay della prima classe cercano di nascondere e poi minimizzare il problema. Un carrello è incastrato quindi dovranno fare un atterraggio di emergenza. Al momento stanno volando in cerchio sopra la città di partenza, in Spagna, in attesa di trovare una pista adeguata e consumare al massimo il carburante. I passeggeri dell’economy sono stati addormentati volontariamente per evitare complicazioni in un volo già difficile. Tra i passeggeri della business scoppia una voglia di ultimo saluto, di confessione dell’ultima ora poiché temono il peggio. In questo gruppo di personaggi bizzarri ed eterogenei c’è un ex attrice-cantante diventata poi maitresse di alto livello, un killer professionista, un uomo d’affari corrotto che non vede sua figlia da due anni, una sensitiva

ancora vergine e molto naif, una coppia di sposini abbastanza strafatti e un attore che ha l’abitudine di abbandonare le giovani fidanzate. Per far fronte alla situazione i tre steward preparano un cocktail micidiale con champagne, vodka, succo di arancia e mescalina. Subito dopo improvvisano un balletto molto gay e molto kitsch per intrattenere i passeggeri. Grazie al cocktail in un attimo cadono i freni inibitori di tutti quelli che sono rimasti svegli che intrecciano una serie di rapporti sessuali abbastanza animaleschi e disinibiti etero e omosessuali.

Gli amanti passeggeri, il nuovo film di Almodovar, è deludente. Non troviamo in questo film l’ironia e la verve comica esilarante tipica dei suoi film. La beffa rischia di cadere nel grottesco e nel volgare, l’ironia è quasi assente. L’iperrealismo de Gli amanti passeggeri, il cui tema vuole ricordare alla società spagnola la vacuità del girare in tondo senza concludere nulla, esattamente come sta

facendo l’aereo in uno spazio temporaneamente immobile, fa sentire una certa mancanza di surrealismo alla quale ci ha abituato Almodovar.

Nell'intenzione del film c'è una critica neanche troppo velata alla moderna società spagnola borghese che non riesce a riempire un vuoto esistenziale dove il grottesco prende il sopravvento in mancanza di valori e di idee. La solitudine dei personaggi è palese e crea in loro una certa inquietudine coperta da un velo di tristezza. Nel film anche un cammeo iniziale e molto breve di Penelope Cruz e Antonio Banderas.

Gli amanti passeggeri, che sarà nelle sale italiane dal 21 marzo, esce con 300 copie e segna il ritorno alla commedia del regista spagnolo che racconta che sono state proprio le persone che incontra passeggiando per le strade di Madrid dove vive a chiedergli di tornare a quel genere. Presenti nel film i temi cari ad Almodovar: il sesso e la morte

dove il primo viene usato per esorcizzare il secondo.

Longtime Pedro Almodovar followers who have secretly been hankering for a return to the broad, transgressive comedy of his early work will be thrilled by “I’m So Excited,” a hugely entertaining, feelgood celebration of human sexuality that unfolds as a cathartic experience for characters, auds and helmer alike. Uniquely Almodovar’s own, the pic is as light and airy as the skies in which it’s set, but its failure to break new ground may leave auds feeling they’ve seen some of this before, done better. That said, the globally presold pic could ironically win new converts to the Almodovar cause.

Following a short runway scene with cameos from Penelope Cruz and Antonio Banderas as a couple of airport workers (the cast reunites thesps from all phases of the helmer’s career), the action moves 10,000 feet up, into an airplane packed with neurotics that is apparently Mexico-bound, but has a technical problem.

Squeezed into slightly overstretched uniforms, a trio of swishy male flight attendants keep the banter lively: Joserra (Javier Camara), a high-strung motormouth incapable of telling a lie; skinny tequila- and tablet-fueled Ulloa (Raul Arevalo); and the overweight and repressed Fajas (Carlos Areces), who carries with him a portable altar at which he prays for passengers’ souls.

Most of the fun happens in business class, since those traveling in economy have been given a sleeping drug — a nice metaphor for the way Spanish politics uses the media to placate its people. Passengers include Bruna (Lola Duenas), a sexually hung-up psychic with a particular ability for sensing death, and Norma Boss (Cecilia Roth, whose first Almodovar appearance was in his debut, 33 years ago), a former actress who is now a dominatrix for Spain’s political class. Also onboard are soap star Galan (Guillermo Toledo), corrupt businessman Mas (Jose Luis Torrijo) and

Mexican hitman Infante (Jose Maria Yazpik).

Just as he did in 1988’s “Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakdown,” Almodovar packs a motley crew into a cramped space, zooms in on their winsome idiosyncrasies, and watches what happens. When it emerges that the plane’s undercarriage is malfunctioning and an emergency landing will have to be attempted, the attendants decide to keep spirits up by lacing the passengers’ drinks with mescaline, and performing a comically choreographed version of the Pointer Sisters’ “I’m So Excited,” a song that aptly gives the spirited pic its English-language title. When the drugs kick in, sexual barriers fall and a liberating orgy ensues.

A pre-credits panel states that the film bears absolutely no relation to anything factual, which means of course that it does. Rest assured, all this Rabelaisian comedy serves a darker purpose, especially with Spain and much of the rest of the West

in economic turmoil: The name of the airline is “Peninsula,” and while the metaphor of the Iberian peninsula as a crippled airplane may not be subtle, it works just fine.

Almodovar’s early work was first seen in the context of a socially uptight country, and in some scenes there is the sense that the world has overtaken the director’s sense of humor — except perhaps for one moment that takes “There’s Something About Mary’s” hair-gel gag to a shockingly hilarious level.

Spanish corruption in politics and business is targeted through the figures of Mas and Norma (the latter claims to have video recordings of Spain’s 600 most important people engaging in bondage). The satire is cutting, but ultimately forgiving of Spaniards’ tendency to ignore their woes by simply choosing to have a good time.

As ever, Almodovar’s focus is mostly on the female and gay characters. The hand-picked cast reps

a selection of the top end of Spanish acting talent. Of the preening flight attendants, it is Areces, practically incapable of appearing onscreen without inspiring smiles, who stands out (the hairstyling department deserves special mention for giving Fajas a lock of stray hair that seems to have a life of its own).

A potential problem for international auds is the pic’s wordiness. “Excited” revels in rapid-fire gossip and double entendres, and some — along with the many Spanish references — are inevitably lost in translation.

But the film is not without visual pleasures. The interior of the plane looks hyper-real with its attractive combination of lucid blues and intense reds. On occasion the action returns to earth, where a psychologically disturbed artist’s studio is laugh-aloud funny, but so beautifully conceived and lit as to be breathtaking at the same time.

Late in the film, a remarkable sequence juxtaposes the sounds

of a plane coming noisily to ground with sweeping shots of the vast, silent interior of a deserted airport. The fact that this airport actually exists, completed but unused as the result of corruption, is another knowing wink to local auds.

The tech crew is largely composed of Almodovar stalwarts, with Alberto Iglesias’ score drawing on classic cinema suspense tropes to comically bathetic effect, while d.p. Jose Luis Alcaine squeezes the maximum from the inevitably restricted palettes available to him.