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Pedro Alomodóvar made this misfired, rambling comedy about a romance novelist (Marisa Paredes) whose crumbling marriage has left her depressed and unable to work. At a low point, she writes a scathing indictment of her own books (which are penned under another name), with no one realizing critic and author are one and the same. Almodóvar (
Law of Desire) has the start of a great idea here, and for once, he's direct about his sympathy for a character. But nothing else about
The Flower of My Secret is so clear. Despite its unusual allegiance to the straightforward "women's films" of the 1950s, this movie blows it by becoming needlessly complicated over extraneous junk, forcing one to grope in the dark for Almodóvar's point.
--Tom Keogh
Pedro Almodóvar's new picture feels rather sad and low-key-which is no bad thing, since his high-key work (notably "Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!" and "Kika") was becoming painful to watch. Leo (Marisa Paredes) is struggling through a wretched marriage and a split in her professional career: she longs to be taken seriously as a novelist but has been churning out schlock romances for years, with horrible success, under a pseudonym. The plot-straightforward, by Almodóvar's standards-involves Leo's efforts to strip the dead wood from her life and discover what's left alive, a process that includes flirting with a literary editor (the Chaucerian Juan Echanove) and making peace with her family. (Chus Lampreave and Rossy De Palma form a great pair as, respectively, Leo's mother and sister.) Almodóvar's script is, as usual, ripe to bursting, and even his sturdiest fans may be weary of flamenco sequences by now. But the movie itself is gracious, affecting, and frenzy-free. In Spanish. -Anthony Lane
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The New Yorker