Every once in a while, a film comes along that is full of raw machismo, male sexuality, and the essence of true testosterone-driven mayhem that pulls people in by the truckload to stare at car crashes, explosions, and arsenals larger than most countries. All About My Mother, an import from Spain's Pedro Almodavar, is not such a film. If anything could be didactically the opposite, this one takes the flan.

Firstly, Almodavar is legendary for his provocative commentaries on the lives of Spanish and Latin American citizens, specifically women. Hyperbole, melodrama, and colorful characters are just a few of the tools that Almodavar uses in his cinematic works. His last film, The Flower of My Secret, was an exploration into the mind of a woman confused on how to make an honest life while not betraying the most important people in her life. I know that this is a rather vague description, but this is the core of most of Almodavar's films - including Mother. His sensitivity to women and ability to maintain a very masculine voice shows Almodavar's versatility and unique style. Almodavar, who is gay, is not afraid to show sexuality in all its forms, and his refusal to pander to his audience with Hollywood conventions makes him an honorable, honest, and poetic filmmaker. Almodavar has always been fascinated by the female psyche and All About My Mother is truly a homage to the woman as actress, mother, wife, daughter, and friend. The title of the film itself is paying respect to All About Eve and Bette Davis' vitriolic performance.

The central character, Manuela (Cecelia Roth) is a nurse who works in the organ transplant/donor section of a hospital. She witnesses death on a daily basis with little or no emotion. Her son, Esteban (Eloy Azorin) is an aspiring writer. On his seventeenth birthday, the only wish that Esteban has is to find out about his estranged father.

"All of the pictures were cut in half. My father, I suppose. I have the impression that my life is missing that same half," states Esteban, in his meticulous journal. Esteban represents the young artist-prodigy - a boy with a wonderful ability to create, but who also feels the pressures of his gifts. A quote, which appears in a Truman Capote book given to Esteban by Manuela, describes this struggle:

"When God hands you a gift, he also hands you a whip; and the whip is intended solely for self-flagellation."

The bond between Manuela and Esteban is immensely strong, for they have only had each other for so many years. After the two of them see a production of A Streetcar Named Desire, Manuela reveals that she once played Stella, and Dad played Stanley. This piques more curiosity in Esteban about his father. Unfortunately, Esteban never learns any more information, for a car kills him instantaneously. Ironically, this car contains the actress Huma Rojo (Marisa Paredes), who played Blanche in Streetcar, and for whom Esteban was chasing for an autograph. Needless to say, this is a mortifying and traumatic situation for Manuela. Not only has she lost her son on his birthday, but also her entire reason for existence. She decides to travel to Barcelona from Madrid to find her estranged husband and fulfill her son's last wish to connect him to his father.

Manuela is a woman always in motion or transit; whether it is leaving one destination for another or from one character to another. As she arrives in Barcelona, we as the audience realize that Manuela's penchant for starting over is a recurring theme in her life- she does not know what stability is, and the circumstances around her will never yield to stability. Manuela finds her old friend La Agrado, a transvestite prostitute that subjects herself to some of her own self-flagellation every day at the Felliniesque "Field," a meat market of whores and vipers. Manuela and Agrado decide to make a pact to help each other through their separate obstacles and find Esteban's father.

The next hour into the film is a wonderfully interwoven pattern of irony, pathos, and tragedy. When Streetcar lands in Barcelona, Manuela eventually becomes Huma Rojo's personal assistant, and tries to reconnect to her past by living vicariously through the Streetcar production. Huma's own messed-up romance with the heroin-addicted actress who plays Stella places Manuela again as the caring and supportive nurturer, a role she simply cannot live down. Manuela also reluctantly befriends an HIV-positive and pregnant nun named Rosa who ends up saving Manuela's rather bruised soul by showing her that virtue comes through forgiveness. It is eventually revealed that Rosa was involved with Esteban's father, another transvestite prostitute named Lola (formally named Esteban too), who not only gave Rosa AIDS but also is Rosa's baby's father. Rosa holds no anger or hostility towards Lola or her own horrible situation. She simply wants to live long enough to give birth and reconcile with her own prejudiced mother, a woman who is ashamed of Rosa.

I realize that there is a lot of twisting and turning in plot and character development, but when you see this story unfold, it is truly unforgettable and moving. It is truly rare when a film can sink under your skin and make you walk away feeling so thankful for your own life. One really cannot believe that such a small group of people can endure so much unhappiness and misfortune, but there is a positive lesson to be learned from all of this.

All About My Mother is a film about redemption and the ability to love someone beyond their frailties and mistakes. All of these characters hide behind a guise of gender, sexuality, religion, character, and/or fear, except Manuela. She is the only one who remains true to her and holds her position as the motherly nucleus of the troubled group to which she belongs. At the end of the film, Manuela ends up caring for Rosa's child and reconciles with Lola. In a rather beautiful scene, Lola finally gets to see Esteban's picture and reads his journal. Everything has come full circle, and the past has caught up with the present and future.

Almodavar has not only made a film about his love and admiration for women, but also for the process of birth and rebirth, the ability to forgive and forget, and the transformation from a guise to the real person underneath. Using vibrant cinematography, the film is a colorful and lively background against its darker subjects. Agrado as comic relief is also genius; silicone implants will never be the same to me. All the actresses' performances are amazing and heartfelt. I hope that American moviegoers will pay more attention to Almodavar's presence in film and his eloquent messages about humanity.

Sudha Narasimhan, writer and filmmaker, currently resides in New York. She describes herself as a whirling dervish who occasionally spins out of control. She also likes the color blue and the number eight!