Official Competition
Penélope Cruz Glad Wraps two men together and forces them to watch their accolades being churned through an industrial shredder as some sort of ego-destroying exercise in Official Competition, an amusing satire of festival filmmaking from experimental Argentine directors Gastón Duprat & Mariano Cohn. While it may evoke Tropic Thunder more than Synecdoche, New York, this is a film whose strength lies in the performances of its leads and the uneasy power structure within their trio of archetypal characters.
A wealthy old man named Humberto Suarez (José Luis Gómez) stands on an isolated floor of a building, pondering his legacy with his (probably) underpaid assistant. He is known for his affluence but not much else, and it’s bringing him some unhappiness. Perhaps he could commission a bridge under his name and when it’s built, donate it to the government? Unsure of the general populace’s lasting appreciation of this idea, another thought enters his mind: he could make a film! “But you’re not a director,” his assistant astutely points out, before Suarez (like any good higher management success story) explains that he would simply finance the thing and handball the particulars to the appropriate hires. It’s a cynical introduction that’ll plant paranoia in the hearts of indie film fans, but Official Competition is a meta movie about movie making that takes fun seriously.
Having settled on a director for his passion(less) project, Suarez visits the home of celebrated auteur and power lesbian Lola Cuevas (Cruz), an enigmatic mess of well-tailored jumpsuits and 90s Nicole Kidman hair. Suarez has purchased the rights to a best selling novel and wants Lola to adapt it, but like a certain 14-year-old tasked with an essay on Storm Boy in year 9 English, he hasn’t bothered to read it. Lola regails him with the premise and plot of “Rivalry”, a story about two brothers locked in neverending competition with each other, but warns him that her film will be a rather loose adaptation. Suarez protests a little as he spent “a lot” on the acquisition, but since he knows not of art (and likely hasn’t had a mortgage repayment since the 50s) he accepts her decision. Little does Lola know that her control ends here.
Enter Félix Rivero (Antonio Banderas), a globally successful star who managed to cross the bridge from Spain to Hollywood fame. He will play the younger of the two brothers – a man imprisoned for accidentally killing his parents in a drunk driving incident. Joining him in the lead is Iván Torres (Oscar Martinez), a puritanical thespian lauded for his craft but repulsed by the idea of selling out. Iván will play the older brother – the responsible bore who dobs in his hermano and whose constant need to one-up him will set his fate in the novel’s finale. With full understanding of what she’s doing, Lola will push these polar opposites in directions unfamiliar. But as life begins to imitate art, her short yet immaculate filmography may be under threat.
Cruz and Banderas have known each other for 30 years and it shows, their onscreen chemistry simmering despite Lola’s disinterest in this self-proclaimed lothario. Félix is here for himself and feels no intimidation by the material nor his co-star, while Iván respects his role deeply and sees himself and Lola in a league far above his studio ho castmate. Lola’s attempts to elicit the performances she needs become increasingly ridiculous (and hilarious) during their nine day rehearsal and involve hovering a hefty boulder above the pair as they run through a scene and an emasculating display of Kissing: 101 that she performs on their female co-star as ten or so microphones capture the ASMR-repellent moment being funnelled directly to their headphones.
But perhaps my favourite scene in the film takes place at Iván’s house as he and his odd wife listen to some experimental soundscape, pretentiously fawning over the drums before realising that it’s their neighbour doing some late night home improvement on the shared wall. It’s a skit so contained that it almost doesn’t belong, but what it reveals about Iván is the brittle facade masking his own insecurities and frustrations with the estimation of success in his line of work.
Echoes of the fictional text within Official Competition exist not only in its characters, but in the actors who embody them. Banderas is in the coveted position of being able to flit between Almodovar films and English language blockbusters, while the simpleton in me saw Oscar Martinez in the opening credits and thought only of The Office. Martinez, like his character, is a critically renowned Argentine actor whose theatre CV is just as long as his film and television work; if he shares Iván’s views on the idiocy of the general audience, he can’t be blamed. But where these characters may be at odds in their production, the duo (along with Cruz) seem to be having an enormous amount of fun bouncing off each other rather than competing. And it’s hard not to be swept up with them.
Official Competition offers two hours of cheeky skewering and an excellent dynamic between its three mains that, while not amounting to anything more revelatory, proves a fine pairing with a glass of tempranillo and a post-film GYG trip. 7/10
Official Competition is in cinemas now.
