This month, Old Academy Anew explores Double Feature (Sesión Continua), a 1984 Best Foreign Language Film nominee from Spain. The film follows several months in the lives of two middle-age writers. Pretty sure most of us throw those two words (middle age) around without fully understanding their meaning. A term also invariably associated with another kooky concept: the midlife crisis— especially in men. So, let’s enter those nostalgic 80s through the lens of that other mysterious world: Europe.
ONE MOVIE
The film opens in silence as the credits roll. When the title finally appears, a slow piano melody begins until it becomes a full composition, swelling strings included. For some reason, this almost melancholy score reminds me of another movie, A Touch of Class (1973), and I wonder if that was intentional.
Stagehand names give way to a montage of black-and-white pictures of men. You see face after face, and you know they’re supposed to mean something. Which they don’t for me until Alfred Hitchcock shows up among the strangers. What confirms that those men are film directors is Woody Allen. That all-men montage ends with a caption over black in parenthesis, A ELLOS (dedicated to them).
Such masturbatory, sorry, subtle introduction turns into a city landscape at twilight. We pan toward a window where a middle age man stares out in black-tie regalia, unlit cigarette between his lips. Strings gone, the piano gives its sparse final notes as the man lights up and turns to face someone in the room.
THE FIRST WORDS UTTERED IN DOUBLE FEATURE ARE “MY LOVE, I LOVE YOU, AND I NEED YOU.” IT MIGHT SOUND REDUNDANT IN ENGLISH, BUT THEY USED TWO DIFFERENT WORDS FOR LOVE IN SPANISH. WHAT FOLLOWS AS THE MAN CONFESSES MORE AND MORE IS SOMETHING THAT WOULD HARDLY REGISTER TODAY BUT BE COMPLETELY OUT OF PLACE EVEN FOR EUROPEAN FILMS IN 1984: HE’S BARING HIS SOUL TO ANOTHER MAN.
Because I try my best to go blind into these movies like some Youtuber recording “first reactions” I was confused. Now, my confusion came from the fact that his confession was to a man as old as him. Trust me, the semi-positive portrayal of same-sex couples is a product of our current defiance to conservative norms; in the 80s, our protagonist would’ve been a perv, obsessed with a barely legal ultra-feminine guy. Therefore, something felt obnoxiously fishy about the premise. Never mind that the more we see into the space surrounding this love declaration the more we realize whoever owns it is obsessed with movies.
“I know you’re unable to live a double life,” our earnest still unnamed protagonist says. “I don’t want to break your marriage.”
“I’m not breaking anything.” The other man wrings his hands over his lap. “You can’t break something that’s been broken for a long time.” He stares at the floor for a heartbeat then at his lover again. “Marriages don’t break when they get broken. It’s always something long coming: routine, custom. Or in my case, social convenience is what keeps it going.”
And I’m here like, what! Are they really going there? Man One needs some governmental crisis as a way to deflect the focus from him when his marriage blows over. Every other word he utters is “My love” with rising desperation. He’s about to shake his lover, when the other goes, “Fuck, you’re overdoing it with all those “My loves.”
Man One asks why, and the response is, “For fuck sakes, no one speaks like that. You sound like a fortysomething instead of a young woman.”
DOUBLE FEATURE HAD ME THERE FOR A MINUTE. THESE TWO FUKKOS ARE TRYING DIALOG FOR A SCREENPLAY THEY’RE WRITING TOGETHER. I’M HOOKED. IF THEY CAN ACT LIKE THAT IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES OF THE MOVIE, I’M READY TO GOBBLE THE WHOLE THING UP.
Man One insists, “Nah. Young women do speak like that. They say, my love, my life. The one that doesn’t say stuff like that is my wife.”
From there, we learn that Man One is Federico (Jesús Puente) and his writing partner is José (Adolfo Marsillach). Intent on going back to their verbal drill because they’re behind schedule, José pushes Federico to regain his early-twenties, philosophy major-in-love persona. But Federico can’t concentrate; he’s about to be late to someone’s wedding and needs to make several stops before picking his wife.
They banter for a bit about such matters, giving us subtle hints about their lives. José finishes the exchange with, “No, no. I pass on weddings, christenings, funerals, communions. All that gives cancer.” The aversion to participate in human rituals seems to have been one of the biggest instigators of his eventual divorce. He explains this refusal to engage in social events is called “ceremonial allergy,” according to a friendly psychiatrist. I’m with you, José. I am with you. Federico finally departs for the shackles service after agreeing to meet the next day for more role play.
A new scene opens to an industrial landscape— where we find an eclectically dressed woman. By today standards she’d be considered either a homeless person or a spunky fashion-forward individual. The thing you don’t see in the picture below is the pan flute hanging from her backpack. Make of that unseen nugget what you will.
We spend barely a minute with her, though. As she walks, imbued in her mystical (?) air with fuming towers in the background, the scene jumps to a different situation.
DOUBLE FEATURE TEASES US WITH THIS SEEMINGLY FREE-SPIRITED YOUNG THING. IS SHE COMING TO WRECK THE LIVES OF OUR DRAMATURGES? IS SHE TO BECOME AN ADVISOR FOR THE HITHERTO ABSENT WOMEN OF THE STORY? STAY TUNED.
In the aftermath of their social commitment, Federico’s wife, Pilar, is removing her makeup, bitching, and applying antiaging cream. Federico enters the frame and unleashes the most poetic shit I’ve heard in eons to shut her up. “Don’t fight with them anymore, I love your wrinkles. They belong to me. I’ve seen them born. They’re part of my achievements.” This might sound cruel on paper, but the way he says it gives me goose bumps.
Pilar’s answer presents her point of view in such a recalcitrant way it’s devastating. “True. Most carry your signature. If I could, I’d return them all to you.” Federico still tries, though. “And I’d accept them all without hesitation, my love.” He aims to hold her, but she pushes him away with more salty words. The scene ends with Federico chastising himself, facing the same mirror his wife uses to prevent the erosion of her beauty.
TWO MOVIES
We find ourselves in the offices of Balboa Productions head honcho. Federico and José explain the main theme of their movie: generational abyss. Mister Money rolls his eyes; neither he nor the moviegoers want a social thesis disguised as a love story. That doesn’t sell. “People want something entertaining where many things happen. Love, jealousy, hate, wrong weddings… Simple stuff. And that’s cinema, and that’s the way movies are,” he concludes.
UNBEKNOWN TO OUR PROTAGONISTS, THE STORY IN THEIR FILM HAS MANY PARALLELS WITH WHAT’S COMING TO THEIR LIVES. DOUBLE FEATURE DOES AN EXCELLENT JOB AT FORESHADOWING ON SEVERAL LEVELS, NOT ONLY GIVING HINTS BUT CREATING SITUATIONS DRAMATICALLY OPENED TO INTERPRETATION.
Federico isn’t taking any of that simplistic approach to the art of cinema. “If they’re so simple, why don’t you write them?” Undeterred Money Man Balboa retorts, “Because I don’t have the time, smartass. If I had the time…” He turns to a picture of a (let’s say) famous Spanish film director and recites what the cinematographer told him many times. “Balboíta, with your imagination you would make wonderful stories.”
José and Federico unleash their own monumental eye rolls. Balboa excuses himself for the bathroom within the office but never shuts up while doing his business. He finally returns to deliver the final blow, putting one of the greatest directors of all time and himself in the same intellectual boat. “This is something Hitchcock and I say a lot: the spectator has to be seated in his chair as if he were on top of a ticking bomb. That’s it: action, love, adventure, mystery.” He makes a dramatic pause then adds, “Cinema.”
We go back for almost a minute to the quasi-gypsy woman. She’s at a port now, hugging a man about to board a ship. And puff, back to our protagonists.
Concurrently with the maneuvers to bring their untitled film to life, one of Federico’s stage plays is in motion. Las Hormigas is obviously about the dwellers of an ant colony. During rehearsals, Federico has a hilarious argument with the play’s Argentinean director. The quirky South American has directed the ants to speak in falsettos. Federico asks about that choice. The reason is absurd, wrenching a “Fuck, no one knows how ants talk” from Federico. Still, our protagonist takes a deep breath and questions the amount of ants on stage. There should be thirty not eight.
THE FILM ASKS THE ULTIMATE QUESTION WHEN THE DIRECTOR RETORTS IN THE MOST HISTRIONIC TONES, “DO YOU KNOW WHAT AN ANT CHARGES FOR TWO DAILY FUNCTIONS?” THIS QUESTION IS A MESSAGE TO US: IT’S NOT ABOUT THE THINGS WE WANT BUT THOSE WE CAN AFFORD.
We change locations to find José seated dejectedly, alone in an empty bar. Next, he returns to his apartment full of cinema paraphernalia. Behind the couch, the mysterious woman snores, wrapped in a red sleeping bag. A note for him covers her face. He removes it and caresses her forehead.
This tender moment is not explored because the scene changes to an outdoor cafe the following morning. Our writers debate avenues to make the life of their movie’s protagonist difficult. “An assassination attempt, kidnapping? How are we going to make him suffer?” These machinations unsettle an older gentleman breaking fast not far from them. He scurries away before becoming an accessory. Moments later, they see José’s daughter walking toward a man sitting on the hood of his car. The couple greets each other with kisses and departs in the car. While not as old as José, the man has enough age to be her father. Federico and José just watch the moment unfold in silent discomfort.
Whether the previous scene prompts the tarot reading we witness next is up to each viewer’s interpretation. The mysterious woman finally speaks for the first time. “Solitude. Solitude is all I see.” José wonders if this mean their movie is going to flop— that no one will go to see it. Her answer, “I’m not seeing your movie. That’s not important.” José insists, “You’re wrong, Mala. That’s the most important thing to me. My life is cinema.”
JOSÉ CALLS THE TAROT READER “MALA,” THE FEMININE FOR “BAD” IN SPANISH. THIS IS NEITHER HER TRUE NAME NOR AN INSULT, BUT A MONIKER GIVEN BY SOMEONE FROM HER PAST, AND SHE CARRIES IT LIKE A BADGE OF HONOR. DOUBLE FEATURE WILL EXPLORE THE DEPTHS OF THAT WORD IN SURPRISING WAYS AND FROM VARIOUS ANGLES.
“You cling to movies because everything else scares you,” Mala says deadpan. José deflects asking which card is telling her that. His deflection gets deflected with instructions to talk to his daughter to prevent all the solitude coming his way. He has two daughters, but he understands is the one involved with the not-so-young gentleman.
And I’m going to stop here because I want you to go and watch this movie.
DOUBLE FEATURE
According to today’s media, you need a label to participate in society. Whether your religion, political views, sexuality, disability, etc. because without that banner you don’t exist. Also you need to be angry about something external; you get brownie points if that something has no actual bearing in your life.
With that caveat, you get why making this film in 2023 would be not only a shit show, but a shit bus full shit sandwiches marinated in ants. We live in a moment in time where nothing in the past is sacred; everything is open not only to interpretation but reimagining, upgrading, and refurbishing. If we don’t like something in the past, we simply change it. Those blemishes making us question the actions (or inactions) of our ancestors need to be erased because they are shameful. Our kids and future generations do not need to know about those things. The past is perfect— nothing to see here, move along.
DOUBLE FEATURE IS THE EXPLORATION OF A FRIENDSHIP, AGING ALONG WITH THESE WRITING PARTNERS. A PEEK INTO THE DESTRUCTION OF THEIR LIVES IN THE PURSUE OF THEIR CREATIVE GOALS. BOTH ARE SUCCESSFUL IN THEIR ENDEAVORS, BUT CREATIVITY DOESN’T END WHEN YOU FINISH SOMETHING, IT WANTS THE NEXT THING AS LONG AS IT LIVES.
I can see it now. That declaration of love in the first minutes would not be a brainstorm but the true feelings of our protagonists. They need a better label than old or divorcé; it has to be a rainbow. No Balboa to stop the social thesis; a character checking at least five modern “expectations” would cheer and give them green light and unlimited funds. The name “Mala” would be changed to “Bonita” or “Mística” to avoid triggering anyone. The original montage will be replaced with only female directors. Not a single man has directed a movie in the last five years; that according to the simulation, sorry, fantasy the media and its acolytes experience 24/7.
A film showing how creativity affects those who live through it, torn apart by the lack of creativity in the modern world isn’t ironic; it’s devastating. Perhaps the European origins of this film could keep a remake from Hollywood’s pervasion. One can only hope.
I’m giving this film 9 out of 10 because one thing was resolved too easily; I did not buy it.
You can watch the movie here.