Love is like a rebellious bird that you can never hope to tame,
And your wooing will go unheard unless he wants to play the game.
Nothing helps, neither threat nor guile; you may speak well and ardently,
But another will win my smile, without a word, he pleases me.

Later this month, I will be reviewing a filmed version of a standard opera performance of Bizet's Carmen, as the fourth in my on-going cycle of reviews of my twelve favorite opera films. As a twist on that endeavor, this month I'll first review a dramatic, dance adaptation of the same story. This film made quite a hit when it was released in 1983, winning, for example, the BAFTA award for Best Foreign-language Film, but it has since been sadly neglected. This review is my small contribution to rectifying that bit of injustice.

Historical Background: Director: Carlos Saura was born in 1932 in Huesca, Spain. His father was an attorney and his mother a pianist. He began his career as an artist as a still photographer, working at such, professionally, for three years, before entering Madrid's Instituto de Investigaciones y Experiencias Cinematografistas at age twenty-one. He directed a couple of shorts as an undergraduate and a medium length documentary entitled Cuenca in 1957. His first feature was Los Golfos ("The Hooligans") (1958). His first significant work was his third film, La Caza ("The Hunt"), in 1966. With it, Saura established his propensity for allegory as a device for criticizing the social repression and moral decay in Franco's Spain, while avoiding the attention of the fascist censors. Saura won a Silver Bear at Berlin for Peppermint frappé (1968). He also gained festival recognition (a Jury Prize at Cannes) for La Prima Angelica (1974). That was followed by Cria! ("Cria Cuervos" in Spanish release)(1976), which won a Special Jury Prize at Berlin and is among my favorite Spanish films. He also won a Golden Bear from Berlin for Despisa, despisa (1981). Also in 1981, Saura initiated an unofficial trilogy of dance-related films, which ultimately included Bodas de Sangre ("Blood Wedding")(1981), Carmen (1983), and El Amor brujo (1986). Saura is sometimes described as the most quintessentially Spanish of Spanish directors. Geraldine Chaplin, daughter of the famous silent film actor, Charlie Chaplin, has been Saura's longtime companion in life.

Historical Background: Carmen: Carmen, the ultimate femme fatale, was the creation of French novelist Prosper Mérimée and dates from 1845. The fiery Spanish gypsy continues to haunt our collective consciousness today mainly because of her incarnation in Bizet's great opera, Carmen, written in 1874. Carmen found its way onto film as early as 1915, in a silent version starring the American soprano, Geraldine Farrar, though a silent version seems to me to defeat largely the point of an opera. Then there was the Rodgers & Hammerstein rendition called Carmen Jones (1954), directed by Otto Preminger, of which, years ago, I was quite fond. Carmen lends itself to adaptation in a variety of forms, but Saura's 1983 flamenco version is a standout among them and highly entertaining.

It helps to know the story of Carmen to fully appreciate the film, because the film's story partly parallels and party deviates from the story of the opera and novel. Here's a brief synopsis. Carmen is a beautiful and spirited Spanish gypsy working in a cigarette factory in Seville. She entices the interest of the guardsman, Don José, who pretends to ignore her, but surreptitiously conceals the flower that she throws at him next to his heart. Later, Carmen gets into an altercation with a rival and stabs the girl with a knife. Carmen is seized by the dragoons and confined, with the hapless José standing guard. She soon has José so thoroughly wrapped around her little finger that she is able to enlist his aid in her escape. In fact, José agrees to desert his company to meet Carmen later at a tavern on the outskirts of the walled city.

At the tavern, Carmen becomes infatuated with Escamillo, a famous bullfighter, who is followed by an admiring throng. Soon, José arrives and declares his unquenchable love for Carmen. Carmen is momentarily distressed after a fortune teller sees a tragic future for Carmen in the cards. José abandons his uniform to follow Carmen to the den of smugglers in a nearby mountain pass.

At the camp, José stands guard, alone, and is surprised by the arrival of Micaëla, his former sweetheart, who has groped her way to the hideout to urge José to return to pay last respects to his dying mother. Escamillo soon arrives as well, and the two rivals for Carmen's affections get into a fight, which is prevented from turning fatal for one or the other by the return of the smugglers. Escamillo departs, but not before inviting the smugglers to attend his next bullfight. José leaves with Micaëla, after issuing a jealous warning to Carmen to be faithful.

A festive crowd gathers at the arena and Escamillo enters with Carmen on his arm. After Escamillo proceeds into the arena to perform, Don José pleads with Carmen to alleviate the agony of his love, but his entreaties are for naught. The fickle Carmen tells him that she no longer loves him. As she is about to enter the arena, José stabs her to death. Escamillo emerges, having triumphed over the bull, to find Carmen dead and José sobbing over her body.

The Story: In Saura's version, the story is framed in the context of a dance company in the early stages of rehearsing for an up-coming flamenco production of Carmen. Antonio (Antonio Gades), the director of the company and its lead male dancer, is totally absorbed in the story, closely studying and becoming obsessed with both the novel and Bizet's opera. He hopes to find the perfect young female dancer for the role of Carmen. She must have, he says, "a wild and strange beauty, her lips full and well shaped, opening onto small teeth, whiter than the whitest pearls, her long, black, shiny hair with blue glints similar to a raven's feathers, and eyes with a voluptuous but surly expression." Antonio runs the women in his dance class through their paces, closely observing them and having several of the best step forward, closely scrutinizing their movements and appearance, but dissatisfied, he tells his assistant, "I just don't see any of them as Carmen." He asks his assistant to scour the dance studios for talent. Later, he travels to Seville in search of his ideal. He discovers her in the form of a lovely dark-haired young dancer, who is coincidentally named Carmen (Laura del Sol). He is careful not to show too much of his enthusiasm, however, because, he observes, "Cats don't come when you call them, they come when you don't call."

The film now glides gracefully between the rehearsals of the dance troupe for the various big numbers of the opera and the personal lives of the participants. As you might imagine, the personal lives begin to replicate the story they will be performing. Carmen is a talented young dancer but will need work to be good enough for the lead role. Antonio turns to his senior female dancer and assistant, Cristina (Cristina Hoyos), to help bring Carmen along with special attention. Cristina is the very best of the female dancers but is a bit too old for the part of Carmen. That doesn't prevent her from viewing Carmen as something of a rival. Soon, the troupe is rehearsing the great Tabacalera scene in the cigarette factory, with Cristina appropriately cast as Carmen's rival. This scene is intense and utterly stunning, possibly the best of the film. The hostility is palpable as the pounding rhythms of flamenco incite the passions. It culminates in Carmen slashing Cristina's throat, though only in performance.

During private rehearsals, Antonio pushes Carmen relentlessly, trying to make her feel the part of Carmen as well as perfecting her movements. Carmen allows herself to be guided by her instructor, but holds onto an element of mystery and her untamable independence. Later, Carmen visits Antonio in his home and the two share a glass of manzanilla together. She asks Antonio to dance for her and then joins him. The metaphorical bonding in the dance quickly erupts into actual lovemaking. Antonio thinks he has his woman, only to later spy her slipping away in the middle of the night, in a reversal of the usual gender stereotypes.

Saura now marvelously handles the symbolic divergence in the directions of Antonio and Carmen, by cutting back and forth between their opposing activities. It is the next day, and Antonio practices alone in the studio, in front of the wall-length mirror, obviously deep in thought. He walks to the window and throws open the curtains to reveal the daylight. At that same moment, Carmen walks through the gate at a jail, thrown open so that she can enter to visit her husband, José Fermandez, who is incarcerated for peddling illicit drugs. Back at the studio, Antonio now drinks his manzanilla alone.

José is soon released, so in this twist on the original storyline, it is José that gets out of jail rather than Carmen. He joins the dance troupe. After a bizarre poker game in which José wins the hand, Antonio and José get into an altercation, which gets acted out in a powerful flamenco duet, culminating in José's mock defeat. Perhaps the emotions of the poker game were simply to get them in the mood for rehearsing the number. José is not really a rival to Antonio because he has relinquished all claim to Carmen and simply wants to relish his newfound freedom. That doesn't prevent Carmen from finding new sources of male attention.

How does it all play out? Well, this being Carmen, it can't culminate in a mushy happy Hollywood ending. Someone has to die, but you'll have to discover who for yourself and whether it's merely death on stage or death in actuality.

Themes: Carmen is a story about contrasts and conflicts, most notably the conflicts between love and jealousy, and between possessiveness and independence. That much is inherent in any version of Carmen, but this version adds additional layers to the legend. One added conflict relates to the origin of Carmen as literature. There's a stupendous irony in the fact that the literary character that is today arguably the most famous of all female Spanish characters and the quintessence of the Spanish persona (to outsiders) is not of genuine Spanish origin. The novelist who invented the character was quite French as was the composer who immortalized Carmen by his opera. For the Spanish, at least, there is an understandable conflict between admiration for the character and rejection of her as a foreign invention and a stereotyping of their national identity. By transposing Carmen to a flamenco rendition, replete with Spanish guitars, Saura is asserting a genuine Spanish ownership of the story. Saura then underscores the Spanish ambivalence toward the legend of Carmen by structuring his film so that it slides effortlessly between the real lives of the participants and their performances as well as between the flamenco and operatic versions of the music. It's a beautiful piece of nationalistic reconciliation with the Carmen story.

Production Values: The opening credits of the film set the tone and atmosphere immediately, running over Dore prints of Carmen and the strains of a performance of Bizet's opera. The framing story involving the personal lives of the principals is the least successful part of the film, especially toward the end. It is hard to reconcile, for example, what's happening in the poker game with the interpersonal narrative. The line between reality and performance becomes increasingly blurred until, at the end, we really have no idea whether what's depicted is happening as performance or in reality. The story if good enough though not great, but everything else about the film is outstanding.

The dancing is utterly engrossing. I couldn't take my eyes off these performers. Lively! Colorful! Intensely rhythmic! Beautiful bodies strutting gracefully! Next to the dancing, the music is the film's top draw. The great Paco De Lucia, a famous flamenco guitarist, makes an appearance near the film's beginning. Saura works in excerpts from a recording of the Bizet opera that starred tenor Mario Del Monaco and mezzo-soprano Regina Resnick, two very fine opera singers. The operatic excerpts are seamlessly integrated with the flamenco performances. The boundaries between the two are never especially obvious.

Antonio Gades is about as graceful as a man can be. He worked with Saura on the conception of the film, choreographed it, and performed the lead male role. He is a former director of the National Ballet of Spain and is rightfully famous throughout his homeland. He bursts with energy and authority. Laura del Sol exudes sensuality from head to foot. Her eyes burn with unbridled passion. Cristina Hoyos, who played Cristina, was one of the greatest flamenco dancers of her generation. The secondary characters perform ably as well, both as actors and dancers.

Bottom-Line: This is a highly entertaining film, with dynamic energy and explosions of color. The narrative is imperfect but not worth quibbling over because most of your attention will stay riveted on the dancing and music. If you like dance, you'll love this film. It will make no difference to your enjoyment whether you enjoy opera or have prior experience with flamenco specifically. Carmen is in Spanish with English subtitles and has a running time of 97 minutes.


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You may also enjoy my other opera reviews:

The Barber of Seville
La Bohème
Boris Godunov
Carmen
Don Giovanni
Lucia di Lammermoor
The Magic Flute
I Pagliacci
Rigoletto
La Traviata (Strada)
La Traviata (Moffo)
Il Trovatore
Turandot

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older