In Abre Los Ojos she was so inexplicably luminous and tangible all at once that when they re-filmed the story for American audiences in Vanilla Sky it was obvious that she would reprise her role. Which she did, and with barely any screen time she so overwhelms us that we are almost able to swallow the head-fuck of a narrative for the 2nd time... almost. The Sigur Ros music helps, but Tom Cruise hinders, and it all comes to a bit of a draw.
In Todo Sobre Mi Madre she is a non-too-subtle reification of the madonna/whore complex, the socio-sexual dichotomy becomes perfect flesh. She is then impregnated by a physical manifestation of the gender dichotomy, and subsequently eviscerated by one of the great plagues of our age. But even in this role where she embodies multiple abstractions, she communicates a simple humanity, as though she were still capable of disappearing into cotton sweat pants and a ragged t-shirt while watching hours of cartoons with you as you both suffer through a mid-week hangover together.
But this is no mere persona that she naturally exists in and just allows the camera to capture... it is actually highly skillful acting. We know this because in Volver she is a mistreated wife that blossoms into a strong single mother and shrewd entrepreneur, with an ass that is too good to be real (it isn’t). And in Vicky Cristina Barcelona she is an electric wire stripped clean of social veneers; spitting dark and destructive sparks all around her. She is no girlfriend; she is a fire-starter, and your heart is the kindling.
These are types of women that some men say they want, or that a rare few are truly strong enough to co-exist with, but that generally terrify and emasculate most men. They either become her child or her victim, or they run and hide in the arms of a milk-sop girl who completely bows to their masculine will. And then there is the type of girl who is about balance; first in herself and consequently that balance spreads into your relationship with her... at least in the beginning. Then you are in the rare and lovely presence of a girlfriend who cares for a boy and knows that a boy cares for her. This is the type that dear Penelope performs for us in many of her films, and Elegy is a wonderful and heart-rending example.
So when Penelope Cruz steps into Ben Kingsley’s class on Literary Criticism, with sharp/straight bangs and the prim white shirt and tight skirt of a legal secretary we know that she is performing for herself as she finds an identity between youth and maturity, performing for him as her teacher and future lover, and performing for us as the audience. He knows what she is, and says so... she is the kind of girl you take to the theatre even though you long ago stopped caring about pretentious plays. She is the kind of girl you compare to the paintings of Goya, because you want her to know how you see her. She is the kind of girl you play the piano for, when all it does is bring you sadness to play these notes that you know you will never play well enough to satisfy your own ear. Her performance makes him perform...
And my god, what a performance. She listens to him, she learns from him, she ever so slightly disagrees and stands her ground. She always makes it clear that she is open to suggestion, but that the decision is her own, or perhaps more accurately that her decision comes from a truth she knows but cannot articulate till the moment of exception. She leans against the wall of the narrow hallway in his apartment, lined with elegantly tasteful pictures, and just slightly arches her back and lifts her chest forward to him as he slowly opens her shirt for the first time. She is incredulous in bed when he tells her she is a work of art, but when they kiss we know she believes him.
When he breaks her heart, we remember every time we’ve done the same thing. We can see it in her eyes, her fingers tight upon the phone. And when she comes back to him, in the depths of her darkness, we know we will always love her because she was always better than us.
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