Review of The Last Dream by Pedro Almodóvar: Fantastical and Candid Curios

“I call everything a story, I don’t distinguish between genres,” writes Pedro Almodóvar in his introduction to The Last Dream—the acclaimed Spanish filmmaker’s first foray into short story writing. Like his films, the book defies tidy categorization, seamlessly blending fantastical fictions, candid personal essays, and self-reflexive curiosities. This collection, culled from a lifetime of writing, resists easy summaries and even challenges expectations with moments of piercing clarity amid the expected chaos.

Almodóvar suggests that readers view the book as a placeholder for the memoir he will likely never write. Initially, this claim feels fanciful. The first story, “The Visit,” portrays a transgender woman’s bloody revenge mission; subsequent stories delve into queer Catholic vampirism and a peculiar retelling of Sleeping Beauty. As you progress further, however, the collection takes a more cohesive shape with autobiographical pieces that illuminate the filmmaker’s personal life. The through line is Almodóvar’s relentless imagination and storytelling sensibility, infused with his sexual, spiritual, and cinematic fixations.

One standout story, “Confessions of a Sex Symbol,” explores Andy Warhol through the eyes of a fictional female character, Patty Diphusa, a porn star in the photo-novel industry. Another story, “Memory of an Empty Day,” provides a sparse, poignant reflection on Warhol from Almodóvar’s own perspective. The boundary between ego and alter ego blurs, suggesting that the filmmaker navigates multiple internal dialogues at once.

Yet, Almodóvar’s best writing emerges when he speaks directly as himself, as in the title piece. He provides a sharp, moving six-page reflection on his mother’s death, filled with practical concerns about burial veils and family gatherings, disrupted by insecurities about whether she liked his films. This raw, conversational simplicity feels refreshing, revealing aspects of Almodóvar that don’t translate to the screen.

The fictional stories mostly read like early treatments of films Almodóvar either made or never completed. For example, “The Visit” seems like an unpolished blueprint for Bad Education, his 2004 exploration of Catholic school abuse and trauma. The story lacks the narrative and emotional depth of the film and features some awkward prose that might be attributable to translation issues.

Conversely, “Too Many Gender Swaps” offers intriguing insights for Almodóvar enthusiasts. The witty reflection on artistic collaboration and homage hints at the roots of both his 1999 film, All About My Mother, and his 2019 work, Pain and Glory. This story bridges his past cinematic triumphs and his current literary endeavors.

However, it’s hard not to yearn for the film he could have made from “The Mirror Ceremony,” a playful, sardonic tale about a jaded Count Dracula joining an austere Italian monastery. Despite never venturing into outright horror, Almodóvar’s distinctive style—saturated primary colors and florid music—would have brilliantly brought this story to life on screen. Reading these tales illustrates what’s missing when sensory details remain confined to the page.

The Last Dream offers a mix of pleasures—some lurid, some poignant—without implying that Almodóvar has missed his true calling. His singular cinematic vision continues to thrive, with this collection serving as a fascinating supplement rather than a replacement for his filmic achievements.

The Last Dream by Pedro Almodóvar, translated by Frank Wynne, is published by Harvill Secker (£16.99).

Source: The Guardian