Spanish auteur Eduardo Casanova takes disturbing and obscene to shocking heights in The Pieta, a twisted tale of mother and son co-dependency that will burn your ears and eyeballs with its graphic delivery. Boundaries are pushed off a cliff as a cancerous relationship, a term used both literally and figuratively, grows like a tumor to a blech conclusion. The primary narrative is supported by a North Korean subplot, yup – you read that right, that’s equally bewildering and bonkers. Strap in for a wild ride that’s certainly not for mass consumption.
In 2011 Spain, Libertad (Ángela Molina) clutches the hands of her adult son, Mateo (Manel Llunell), as a clock ticks in the background to foreboding piano music. The doctor seated before them delivers news of a cancer diagnosis. Several days earlier, Mateo, always dressed in pink by his mother, watches her perform at a dance class. Libertad couldn’t care less about a stressed out colleague. She doesn’t feel well and wants to go home.
Serious Mommy Issues
They sit for dinner in a bizarre abode of pink tiles and black marble. Libertad wants Mateo to describe his bowel movements in excruciating detail. A mother must know if her child is healthy. Libertad is surprised when Mateo decides to sleep alone. She’ll leave her door open just in case, but takes powerful sleeping pills as usual. A horrifying nightmare about Roberto (Antonio Durán Morris), the father who left when Mateo was an infant, forces him awake and into a comatose Libertad’s bed.
The next morning, as Libertad remains tranquilized, Mateo cautiously approaches the front door. He gingerly crosses the threshold to the outside world, but the experience doesn’t go as expected. Mateo sweats and panics as a cacophony of noise overwhelms his senses. He screams in agony for his mother. Libertad jerks awake at his distress call and races to Mateo’s rescue. She vomits profusely in the aftermath. This insanity takes place before the opening credits and sets the stage for what’s to come.
Grotesque Body Horror
Casanova, a popular Spanish actor and filmmaker, quickly establishes Libertad’s complete control over Mateo, his burgeoning desire for freedom, and the crippling effect of her suffocating dominance. What happens next at the doctor’s office forces each of those elements into overdrive as outside observers wonder what the heck is going on between these two. Casanova’s only semblance of normality comes from the medical professionals trying to help the toxic pair, but are continually obstructed by Libertad. No one will tell her how to raise Mateo, who’s a grown man being cared for like an infant in every sense.
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The Pieta uses body horror and extreme nudity as storytelling tools. Casanova gets up close and personal with genitalia in stomach-churning, yet borderline campy scenes. He leaves nothing to the imagination, but also isn’t trying to titillate. Fluids and flesh become integral because they cross personal barriers in a grotesque way. What’s meant to be intimate and private is gleefully shared in the open and adds to the icky factor. This gets worse as medical treatments escalate, and the primary characters undergo debilitating transformations.
A Repulsive & Artistic Allegory
The Pieta has wild subplots that run concurrently with Libertad and Mateo’s symbiotic freak show. We meet Marta (Ana Polvorosa), Roberto’s new wife, who looks like a younger version of Libertad, and desperately wants to be needed. She idolizes Libertad in a way that will make your skin crawl. Casanova then has a North Korean couple and their daughters terrorized by Kim Jong-il’s fascist goons, but with astoundingly different reactions to murder and victimization.
The unifying thread between the primary arc and supporting storylines is that escape may not be as sweet as expected. Mateo, like his father and the North Korean wife (Songa Park), are desperate to flee their prison, but learn that life outside the cage isn’t paradise. There’s a comfort and serenity to being ruled by a doting mother or god-like despot. Decisions are made for you. Acceptance and willing subservience to order prevents chaos. Why learn to walk when you can suckle a breast forever? This is perhaps the film’s most incisive tenet.
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La Pietà's costumes, production design, and practical prosthetic effects are integral to Casanova’s batsh*t crazy vision. Libertad’s obsession with pink is akin to Barbie on acid. A color that’s supposed to be warm and feminine becomes sickening. It’s like drowning in a sea of Pepto-Bismol. Most of the action takes place on studio sets. This allows Casanova to create unique environments that fit his kooky characters. They then hideously evolve as sickness, surgery, and hallucinations warp their bodies in nightmare scenarios. It’s all pretty shocking and not for the faint of heart.
The Pieta is never dull, but the onslaught of weirdness runs thin in its relatively short 80-minute runtime. Subtlety is a virtue ignored here. Casanova makes his point with a sledgehammer. It’s excessive to a fault but gets a slight recommendation on good casting and artistic intent. Most audiences will be utterly repulsed by this film. It’s meant for those who embrace the body horror genre and abstract subject matter.
The Pieta is a production of Pokeepsie Films, Gente Seria AIE, Spal Films, and Link-up et al. It will be available digitally and on demand from Film Movement on January 17th. You can watch it here.
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