Twelve years ago, Russian director Andrey Zvyagintsev made a strong impression at the Cannes Film Festival with his film “Leviathan” (2014). At the time, he was a favourite to win the Palme d’Or, but immediately following Russia’s annexation of Crimea, that was clearly out of the question. As a consolation prize, he received the award for Best Screenplay. In 2017, a similar situation arose with his film “Loveless”, for which Svyatintsev was awarded the Jury Prize. Using a divorce story as a narrative device, he symbolically depicts the traumatic separation between Russia and Ukraine. In his new film, the director takes it a step further: the war – or the “full-scale invasion”, as it is known in Ukrainian parlance – is at the heart of the story.
Gleb (Dmitriy Mazurov), a successful businessman, discovers that his wife Galina (Iris Lebedeva) has a lover. At the same time, he is confronted with the consequences of the ‘special military operation’, as it is referred to by the Russian side. The military administration demands that every town provide a certain quota of men for conscription. Gleb finds himself in an ethical dilemma when he is required to provide 14 names for his business.
As is often the case in his films, Zvyagintsev once again focuses on a family. He takes his time dissecting its breakdown. After all, "Minotaur" runs for 2 hours and 15 minutes, yet the film never feels long because the narrative builds such intense suspense. We watch as Gleb, who comes across as quite likeable at the start, gradually begins to resemble the figure of the ancient Minotaur and takes on the traits of a monster. In Greek mythology, the Minotaur is a creature with a human body and the head of a bull. He dwells in a labyrinth on Crete, to which the Athenians must send seven youths and seven maidens every nine years, who become the victims of this hybrid creature.
Zvyagintsev draws inspiration from a classic by Claude Chabrol, ‘La femme infidèle’ (The Unfaithful Woman, 1969), which he follows in many details. Yet here it is not the French bourgeoisie, but a beneficiary of Russian capitalism who suddenly finds himself under pressure due to the war and loses all moral inhibitions.
Zvyagintsev himself fell seriously ill in 2021 following a COVID-19 vaccination; he was transferred from Moscow to a hospital in Wiesbaden and placed in an induced coma until he was discharged after 11 months of treatment. He has been living in France since 2023; he was able to shoot "Minotaur" in Latvia, as it would have been impossible to make the film in Russia. Alongside Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s “El ser querido”, “Minotaur” is, in my view, a clear favourite for the Palme d’Or.
That is more than can be said for Pedro Almodóvar’s “Amarga navidad” (Bitter Christmas). Following “The Room Next Door” (2024), Almodóvar has returned to Madrid. The director Elsa (Barbara Lennie) is taken to A&E by her lover Bonifacio (Patrick Criado), a fireman and stripper, after suffering a severe migraine attack. But then we discover that her story springs from the imagination of the director Raúl (Leonardo Sbaraglia), who is in the process of writing the screenplay for his new film.
Following a panic attack, Elsa travels to Lanzarote with her friend Patricia (Victoria Luengo) and, after years of working exclusively in advertising, picks up the script for a feature film once again. Meanwhile, Raúl’s long-standing assistant Mónica (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón) announces that she wishes to end their working relationship. Raùl is shocked and realises that she is the inspiration for the character of Elsa.
So far, so confusing. Almodóvar weaves a tangle of plotlines that are not always easy to keep straight. One could also describe it as a narcissistic hall of mirrors into which Almodóvar takes the audience. Gone are the wild days of the 1980s, when the self-taught filmmaker from La Mancha shook up the Madrid film scene. All that remains of that is a penchant for melodrama. The dramatic twists and turns have the feel of a high-quality early-evening TV series: mothers and children die, and suicide attempts are rife. There is much suffering and weeping.
Reactions in Spain, where the film was released in cinemas in March, were very mixed. Alongside enthusiasm, there were some decidedly critical comments. “Almodóvar seems to have lost the ability to create a work that is interesting, fresh, moving and entertaining,” writes Alfonso Rivera in “Cineuropa”. In “El País”, Carlos Boyero laments that Almodóvar presents only perfect interior design. Dressed in expensive clothes, the characters move in a milieu where money is no object.
Almodóvar had already celebrated this tendency towards self-indulgent melancholy at length in “Dolor y gloria” (Pain and Glory, 2019). In doing so, he has completely lost the subversive humour that characterised his earlier films. Furthermore, when dialogue is overlaid with music, as in “The Room Next Door”, one gets the impression that Almodóvar has turned himself into his own brand name.