Es obvio que la película es una metáfora de España bajo el dominio de Franco. La madre representa los líderes viejos e inconexos, mientras sus tres hijos representan tres facetas grandes de la cultura española bajo el regimen de Franco. José representa el militarismo y la obsesión con la masculinidad, que se debe al hecho de que su madre lo vistió con ropa de mujer cuando era niño. Fernando representa el énfasis en la religión dentro de la cultura y la idea de vivir para un bien superior, pero cuando Fernando era un niño, su madre le dio un dedal puntiagudo, lo que lo llevó a tener un fetiche por el masoquismo. Juan representa la sexualidad reprimida y la idea de la represión en general a través de las cartas que le escribe a Ana. La última secuencia me recuerda a la violencia en las películas de Pasolini, ambas haciendo muy directamente sus respectivos puntos; cambios en el sistema no son bienvenidos, especialmente bajo el régimen de Franco.
very Mother!ly - pure allegory, pure symbolism, stripped of a narrative corset, filtered of anything that would allow to create a surface. there is only the look beneath it - franconian fascism, friends!it's probably also readable in other contexts though - after all military, church and chauvinism are essential components of many rotten societies. interestingly the matriarch creates, the patriarchs with their small egos, their incapabilities, their impotence take the rap and enhance their cowardice, moral decay, ethical depravity and finally their death drive to full effect. this here is quintessentially a very feministic tale I'd argue. not only the fetishist and objectifier is a rotten animal, but also the militarist in his narcissistic sadism and the self-proclaiming cleric in his perverted denial are ravaging our heroine in their fantasy - until the destruction breaks into the reality. Geraldine Chaplin - not by accident chosen, being the daughter of one of cinemas creators - is pictured ambiguous enough to create some friction in your viewing process. movies stripped of subtlety are some guilty pleasure of mine. Carlos Saura might be high up on that soon-to-create list here.
Moral of the story: Fascism, coming to it from outside, feels like a sad, ridiculous, joke, until suddenly, horribly, it isn't.(Also, Spain is a beautiful country, but, uh, there's some baggage there, Saura seems to be saying)
