Bigas Luna Collection

DVD Review: Bigas Luna Collection (1990-94)

We all carry preconceptions. Just as Brits are thought of as reserved types who’d rather have a cuppa than a roll in the hay, we in this country (fuelled by fortnights on the Costa Brava and repeats of Duty Free) tend to think of the Spanish as lazy, ill-educated and obsessed with sex and siestas. When pressed, that’s the image most people get in their mind’s eye.

Bigas Luna, the Spanish director, tends to see things just that little bit differently. He sees his compatriots as passionate, imaginative, highly sexual and as vibrant a culture as any country assumes they have the monopoly on. Perhaps not as celebrated as fellow Spaniard Pedro Almodóvar, Luna still manages to make films that bristle with energy and ideas. They’re just a bit skewed in their execution.

One of his earlier efforts, The Ages of Lulú (1990), kicks off this collection. Lulú (Francesca Neri) is a fifteen year old girl who fancies her brother’s best mate, Pablo (Óscar Ladoire). That may be a common tale, but taking her home and introducing her to the wonders of shaving foam certainly isn’t, and before long Pablo and Lulú are at it like Duracell bunnies. Separated by time and the Atlantic, Lulú meets up with Pablo and their affair sparks again. They marry, and spend most of their time, spare or otherwise, testing the bed for durability.

This isn’t enough for Pablo, and things take an odd turn. Out of sensibility I won’t mention what, but when I’m at a family party the most physical it gets is doing the Hokey Cokey. Lulú strikes out on her own, and without Pablo and his bedroom games she finds herself drawn to the world of gay sex and S&M. Seeing The Ages of Lulú through to the climax (no pun intended) is as exhausting as one of her nights in.

Right away, it’s important to state that there is a lot of sex in The Ages of Lulú. Luna is very far from being a porn director, and most of the nudity is justified, but some of the scenes are for only the broadest of minds. It’s well-acted, it’s actually rather funny in places, and at its heart The Ages of Lulú is a love story. But don’t watch it when the kids are still up, please.

Luna moved onto more straightforward territory sexually with Jamón, Jamón (1992). Penélope Cruz plays Silvia, who works in a pants factory and gets pregnant by the owner’s son, the weedy Jose Luis (Jordi Mollà). His mother is set against Silvia as her mother is a hooker, and so in a Machiavellian countenance enlists model and wannabe bullfighter Raùl (Javier Bardem) to woo Silvia. Each relationship gets more tangles in it than a tramp’s barnet, and in terms of climaxes, I can promise you that you’ve never seen anything like it before.

Jamón, Jamón is an enjoyable romp, and apart from Bigas Luna’s trademark surreal touches it’s the most straightforward title of the set. This was Penélope Cruz’s debut flick, and she burns the screen with sensuality. There’s strong support and the script is witty, but she alone gives the film its sultry sheen. This has nudity too, but again it’s of the acceptable type.

Golden Balls (1993) was Luna’s first use of Javier Bardem as a leading man. As Benito, he dreams of power and wealth and a big tower. The titular balls refer to his own cojónes, as he brags and shags his way to the top, marrying the wife of a rich banker while keeping a mistress. Luna being as he is, things don’t run smoothly and Benito eventually wishes he hadn’t bothered trying to get to the top in such a mercenary way.

Another comedy, Golden Balls is a satire on the nouveau riche and heartless business. Pulp Fiction’s Maria De Medeiros gives a great performance as Benito’s put-upon missus, but the film’s all about Bardem’s performance. The man was born to act, as simple as that, and even as a huge bounder you can’t help but like him. But this isn’t a conventional comedy, so keep an open mind.

The last runner in the relay is 1994’s The Tit and the Moon. Nine year old Tete (Biel Durán) gets himself in a lather because his new brother is monopolising his mother’s breasts, and so sets out to find a set all of his own. He does so, in the shape of French dancer Estrellita (Mathilda May), only he’s got competition from local handyman Miguel (Miguel Povida), plus Estrellita is already married to cabaret artist Maurice (Gérard Darmon). It’s all very complicated.

If you’re already shaking your head, give the film a chance. What it causes in confusion it more than makes up for in charm. Durán is brilliant as the put-upon Tete, and May is expertly cast as the object of his affection. The scenes created by Tete’s imagination are sweet rather than strange, and it’s very absorbing once you get past the initial conceit of a young lad wanting to carry on sucking at his mother’s breast.

Taken as a package, the Bigas Luna Collection is well worth owning. You can see threads of his ideas running all the way through his work, from black comedy to surrealism, and he’s a thousand times more inventive with his scripts and ideas as Michael Bay is, for example. If you love action and a straightforward narrative, then Luna is not for you. But if you like sex, imagery and good acting, then this might just turn you on. Luna makes the most of his country’s natural beauty (and, it must be said, its natural beauties) but whatever his Spain is, it’s not dull. Bigas Luna is a man for whom life is a banquet – you can take what you want and leave the rest. But I strongly urge you to sample everything on offer here, since even the less palatable dishes have a sweet centre to them.

Chris Stanley