One of the great marvels of modern cinema is how, despite having made his directorial debut over four decades ago, Pedro Almodóvar remains a trailblazer in his medium, an individual whose existential curiosity and unique approach to constructing art have made him one of the most celebrated filmmakers of any generation. There are far too many reasons to adore his work than can reasonably be listed here, but needless to say, his insistence on consistently producing films of an incredibly high calibre, whether it be his transgressive early comedies, or his more striking late-career melodramas, Almodóvar constantly delivers excellent work, regardless of the specific stories or the methods undertaken to tell them. His most recent effort is Parallel Mothers (Spanish: Madres paralelas), which possesses many of the esteemed director’s most notable qualities – strong emotions derived from exceptional writing, a cast of brilliant performers that inhabit the minds and bodies of these characters, and a form of artistic catharsis that sees Almodóvar questioning a variety of very pressing issues, combining social drama with historical commentary, forming a daring and fascinating character study that looks into a fundamental set of themes, all the while managing to venture into the heart of the human condition, something that the director has frequently explored throughout his films. Parallel Mothers is yet another incredibly strong entry into the director’s already impressive body of work, and while it may not be as personal as his previous feature-length film, Pain & Glory (few films can ever attest to that level of turning the most intimate experiences into art), it is a consistently gripping and detailed drama about motherhood, both as a rite of passage in someone supposedly becoming a valued member of society, and the more mentally taxing aspects of taking on this responsibility, leading to yet another layered melodrama from the one artist who has mastered the genre more than nearly anyone else.

Parallel Mothers is quintessential Almodóvar, with the director making use of the same element of surprise that made some of his most popular films engaging and wildly embraced by his audiences, which only seems to grow exponentially with each new ambitious project. On the surface, this appears to be a melodrama centred on two women who give birth on the same day, and the aftermath of this brief but meaningful connection. However, as the film progresses, the director takes the liberty to filter the story through a few additional genres, with the film starting to play out like a psychological thriller with a few notable overtones of romance thrown in to add complexity and further provoke this discussion of certain issues (especially when forging a connection between the two main characters), but where the most surprising material comes in how Almodóvar deconstructs his particular version of humanity at its most fundamental. Considering the central event that kickstarts the narrative occurs quite early on, it only makes sense that there would be several well-placed surprises in store for the viewer, and even when we can easily begin to understand where the film is heading once the seed of doubt is planted in the main character’s mind (and by extension, that of the viewer as well, as we feel like voyeurs, peering into the lives of these characters), Almodóvar constantly keeps us guessing – each new revelation, whether predictable or not, is genuinely earth-shattering, both for the characters in the film, and the implications of the story, which thrives on keeping us entirely invested. It’s only made more captivating by the fact that the premise of Parallel Mothers is not entirely original – there have been numerous instances of the idea of infants being switched at birth and raised by parents who likely did not know that this was not their biological child, which has lent itself to many fascinating discussions, both in terms of fictional and real occurrences of this rare error. Instead, it’s less of a matter of Almodóvar working with something wholly original, and more his ability to take something as anecdotal as two babies being raised by the wrong parents, and turning it into something entirely gripping and frequently enthralling.

While she may be one of contemporary cinema’s most charismatic and endearing performers who has worked across the continents in a range of projects, Penélope Cruz has undeniably done her best work under the director of Almodóvar, whose camera has rarely loved someone more than Cruz. Parallel Mothers is yet another one of their brilliant collaborations, where the director writes one of his greatest muses a complex character and constructs a film around her, using fragments and small details in the formation of this character. Janis is a peculiar heroine – she’s an ordinary photographer with an interest in the past (particularly the victims of a brutal mass murder that robbed her hometown of many of its most important ancestors), almost to the point where the thought that she might not find the answers she seeks gives her crippling anxiety, only made worse by her personal problems that arise after an accidental pregnancy and the tumultuous months that follow it (as well as the secrets that appear in the aftermath), which thrusts her into an entirely new spiral of confusion. Cruz is such a magnetic presence on screen, and the director knows how to use the camera to capture every emotion conveyed on her incredibly expressive visage, which contains a multitude of sensations, even in moments where she is wordless. She works exceptionally well across from Milena Smit, a relative newcomer that plays the other half of the titular duo, the younger of the two, and the person whose presence essentially complicates Janis’ life, as well as eventually making it clearer than ever before. Cruz and Smit are a formidable duo, and carry Parallel Mothers almost entirely on their own, with smaller appearances by other Chicas Almodóvar such as Rossy De Palma and Julieta Serrano, as well as Aitana Sánchez-Gijón (who works with the director for the first time) only making this film all the more special, since the reverence the director holds to his actresses is quite simply unprecedented, overtaken only by his ability to use them in ways previously unseen, pushing them beyond their limits and bringing out absolutely stellar performances that are as enticing as they are beautifully complex.

His work is mostly accessible and not all that impenetrable (often being more beautifully poetic in their complexities, rather than challenging in a conventional sense), but Almodóvar does have a tendency towards crafting multilayered stories that contain several different fundamental themes, and this is made abundantly clear with Parallel Mothers, which operates with multiple tiers. The first is the aspects surrounding the theme of motherhood, which is the central propellant of the film – this is a story of two women, one older than the other, sharing a brief personal connection that they don’t realize will bind them together for life. This is the logical and most surface-level premise, and the one that keeps us most engaged, since it is a tightly-composed melodrama about motherhood, and how society often expects a woman to come into her own through giving birth, rather than valuing her for other reasons – the director doesn’t condone this mindset, but does explore it in some detail, even if it isn’t the focal point. However, there’s an element of something much deeper throughout the film, which speaks to the director’s gradual attempts to piece together fragments of Spanish history through his films. Most of the films made by Almodóvar have very simple narratives, but they’re often infused with aspects of history, whether it be social, cultural or political. As much as Almodóvar frequently makes films that touch on the most intimate parts of our collective existence, his method of adding discussions on Spanish history is just as interesting, each new film bringing with it new ideas that contribute to this sprawling tapestry, which has been tenderly crafted by the director’s protagonists, each one representing a new set of ideas. Undeniably, the historical component that underpins Parallel Mothers is slightly more tenuous – it’s not completely arbitrary, but still quite unexpected, with the main character’s search for the grave of her ancestors and their compatriots who died as a result of violence inflicted on them being an unpredictable aspect to the film’s narrative, but one that does add considerable amounts of nuance when we look at it more closely and with a slightly more critical lens.

This is the precise narrative environment in which Almodóvar is doing his best work – in a single film, he forces discourse around motherhood to come into intense collision with more opaque conversations around the nation’s past, and the right to mourn for the lives lost in the past – it’s a common religious belief that we can only pray for our ancestors if we know their names, so it is not unheard of for many to seek the resolution and closure that sometimes isn’t always available to them. The entire film sees the main characters in a space of transit, trapped in limbo as they patiently await resolution, regardless of the result they receive. The search for meaning in motherhood is directly contrasted with the protagonist’s quest to literally unearth the remnant of the past – Janis is looking both forwards and backwards, focusing on both her ancestors and her descendants, in the hopes of finding meaning somewhere along in the process. The attention to detail, whether it be the intricate relationships that are formed between characters and the post, or something as trivial as the same kind of swab and testing kit being used to identify people in both the past and present, is absolutely spellbinding, with the smallest nuances contributing to the film’s unique discourse surrounding multiple issues. The inquisitive nature of the main character reflects the director’s own unique perspective – after all, he is simply an artist in search of momentarily capturing the world that surrounds him, with particular interest being found in the most ordinary people, who often find themselves in extraordinary situations, which is precisely where Almodóvar’s critical perspective comes into play, since he can manipulate and reconfigure nearly anything, granted there is some degree of social relevance in the story being told – and looking both backwards and forwards for solutions to the problems of the present only further consolidates the strengths of Parallel Mothers, especially when Almodóvar combines these objective conversations about Spain’s past with the more contemporary perspectives that are far more relevant to these older scenarios than most would be led to believe based on a cursory glance.

To call Parallel Mothers a triumph seems oddly inappropriate, not because it isn’t true (as it absolutely is a resounding success), but rather since it seems almost redundant. There are few fewer misfires in Almodóvar’s career than there are successes, and his recent years have been spent handcrafting exquisite, complex dramas about a range of issues that represent a more self-aware, reflective director who has grown to embrace the most poetic details in the world around him, using them as the foundation for some absolutely extraordinary cinematic achievements. Parallel Mothers is a film that is difficult to not embrace, even when the subject matter is slightly more challenging, perhaps not academically (as Almodóvar’s approach is to allow everything to unfold organically, with only marginal, but constructive, interference by the more melodramatic sensibilities that often find their way into his films), but rather in how it looks at some deeper themes through a more potent existential lens. Ultimately, Parallel Mothers works best when we consider it to be a story of seeking out the comfort of history (whether personal or public), only to realize that revisiting the past doesn’t always result in feelings of nostalgia, but rather can unearth some uncomfortable, and potentially even life-changing, secrets about subjects that many would have preferred to have left dormant and out of view. Yet, as the final scene of this film depicts in stark detail, we are intrinsically tied to the past – running away from our shared history only delays the inevitable, and that rather than retreating, addressing the issues directly can bring about more impactful conclusions. There’s very little reason to even remark on the genius of Almodóvar’s work, since it has become an undeniable fact, the director’s name being associated with prestige and genius – and yet, despite this status, he still puts in the work, and can manage to put together something as beautiful, cathartic and thought-provoking as this film, which only proves the incredible power of a simple story that is told well, made with dedication and vivacity that keeps it engaging and thoroughly mesmerizing in the way only some as firmly in control of his craft as Almodóvar could have possibly have achieved.