The Economics of Spanish Film Director Pedro Almodovar
Pedro Almodovar is one of the world’s most highly regarded directors (Volver, Talk to Her, All About My Mother, etc.), and one with a very distinct style. What is the style? It wouldn’t do justice to it to try to describe it, but it’s something you know when you see it. There’s a look to Almodovar’s films that is unmistakable.
Almodovar was probably a known quantity in the U.S. before his 1988 film Women On the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, but that was the one that opened my eyes to the internationally acclaimed Spanish screenwriter and director. Since then his movies have regularly enjoyed distribution in the United States, which is plainly the goal of any filmmaker.
This year Almodover released Pain and Glory, which is as an autobiographical account of the director’s life. Up front, it’s excellent. Pain and Glory is funny at times, insightful, and most of all an interesting look into how the director sees himself. First and foremost, he sees himself as an artist. Looking back on his education, Almodovar doesn’t shy away from the fact that his educators shielded him from math, science and other seemingly technical learning so that he could concentrate on the creative pursuits that animate his life to this day.
All of the above rates mention given what this column presumes to be about: the economics of Pedro Almodovar. One gets the feeling the director doesn’t think much about economics or economic policy, and that’s not a critique. Clearly brilliant, Almodovar is fortunate enough to live at a time when people can more and more specialize. In his case he makes movies. At the same time his brief look back on his life (Pain and Glory runs 113 minutes) provides useful economic insights that will be discussed here.
For one, Almodovar grew up poor. Asier Flores plays the young Almodovar (as Salvador Mallo) in Pain and Glory, while Antonio Banderas plays Mallo as an adult. When young Salvador relocates with his mother Jacinta (played by Penelope Cruz) to the whitewashed living space secured by his fictional father (Raul Arevalo), the house is anything but. It’s a cave, and Jacinta is none-too-pleased. Salvador is young, and obviously thrilled with what has Jacinta more than unhappy. His countenance saves the day for a father doing everything he can to make a better life for his young family.
Jacinta soon enough finds a local to help improve the cave. Eduardo (played by Cesar Vicente) is an illiterate construction worker in the area who improves the home's interior in his free time, only for Jacinta to make plain what her real priority is: she wants to have a sink. Imagine that. Almodovar grew up in the 1950s, and something as basic as an indoor sink was viewed as aspirational.
It’s all a reminder of just how historical is luxury. No doubt a sink was a priority in the 1950s, but today it’s expected. Luxury is particularly historical in the U.S. While window unit air conditioners retailed for up to $50,000 in the 1930s, now they can be had on Amazon for under $100. As a result, they can be seen in the poorest U.S. neighborhoods, along with cable television satellites, cars, plus mobile phones that were once solely used by the richest of the rich. Indoor sinks are a given.
One guesses that what is commonly owned and accessed in U.S. is similarly accessible in Spain. While never easy, poor today is quite a bit less desperate than it was when Almodovar was a child. Why is this true? It’s thanks to entrepreneurs who grew rich and unequal (in terms of wealth) by virtue of mass-producing former luxuries. A sink was the must-have “gadget” of Almodovar’s young existence, which raises an exciting question along the lines of what seemingly unobtainable luxury of today will be common fifty years into the future. The guess here is that private flight will be an everyday consumer good for all income classes well before 2069, which means the routine enjoyments of fifty years from now haven’t yet been conceived. Very exciting indeed. This is one of the many brilliant results of the capitalist system. The creation of stunning luxuries obtainable for the microscopic few, and the eventual mass production of same.
Not explained yet is why Eduardo was helping Jacinta improve the family cave in his free time. The answer is that he was doing so as payment for Salvador teaching him how to read and write. Salvador was smart from an early age, he was despite limited education, and his smarts were bartered for home improvements. Ultimately Salvador’s brains set him up for an education at a seminary paid for by a rich patron. The only problem is that Salvador doesn’t want to go into the priesthood, at which point Jacinta tells him he can eventually opt out after getting his education. It’s the only education they can afford. Salvador’s education arguably shows what’s lacking is the analysis of the left and right on the matter to this day.
Many on the left lament that the poor lack access to the teachings that enable advancement. But as Almodovar’s story reminds us, Salvador was already smart. All school really did was confirm the talent that he already had.
Which brings us to the right-wing view that the poor are held back by their zip code; as in where they live means they can’t get the education they need. Not really, Salvador was once again already smart. School didn’t make him as much as it yet again confirmed talent that was already there.
Both sides look for ways to correct the education gap. It seems they miss the point. The left promise free education with the money of others, while the right promise free education with the money of others in the form of a voucher. Arguably neither side helps.
Lest readers forget, Salvador was yet again already smart. He had the talent before he went to seminary school; the latter something he didn’t want, but the only education available to him. This is important simply because it speaks to the real value of schooling, at least in the past: those of limited means who attained it signaled something about themselves. They got themselves through school despite myriad barriers placed in their way.
Some will disagree, but this speaks to the shame of both sides seeking different ways to create universal educational access. Missed by both is that the learning of the schoolhouse kind is rarely very valuable. Almost by definition it’s yesterday’s news, and it couldn’t possibly have made Almodovar what he is today. His talent couldn’t be taught then, nor can it be now. Watch his films to see why this is true. But his attainment of education said something about him. Never forget that the rich will always have access to the “best” tutors, primary schools, high schools, and colleges. No legislation will change that. And that’s ok. The education is secondary to what attainment of it says about people.
When do-gooder policy types seek the creation of easy access of a market good through legislation, they rob individuals of the ability to get it the hard way. Almodovar educated himself against all odds. That was the crucial market signal, not what he learned. Again, does anyone familiar with Almodovar’s movies think he learned his brilliance at school? Just as with everything, policy types would be most helpful if they’d leave those they aim to help alone.
Which brings us to Almodovar’s evolution. As played by Salvador, he learned geography through his work as a film director. First he learned Spain’s, then his talent took him global; all the way to the United States. It’s all a reminder of what immigration skeptics stateside need to think more about: the United States is the goal of the world’s strivers, it’s their final test. As a Spanish immigrant friend once told me, the Spaniards who come to the U.S. “don’t look back.” The United States is aspiration for the world’s people who want better things.
So many say immigrants come to the U.S. for free stuff. What an insult, and what a misunderstanding of human action. No one would risk their life, or their family, or all that they know for the meager handouts offered by government. Immigrants come to the U.S. to improve themselves. That’s surely what Almodovar did. His geographical evolution that ultimately brought his films to the U.S. was happy, ambitious result of a life of striving.
Did Almodovar aim to relay his economics in the excellent Pain and Glory? It’s unlikely. Still, a very moving film instructs on matters economic in ways that should open the eyes of left and right. The film is still playing at U.S. theaters, which is once again the ultimate goal of the world’s artists. What a story Pedro Almodovar has told through his entertaining, painful, sometimes sad, but ultimately uplifting life.
