Gossip is frowned upon, yet it serves its purpose. Kant despised it for considering it the cause of "superficial and malicious judgments" (as well as "a sign of weakness"), and yet he himself, as his biographies tell, was an incorrigible busybody in the social life of East Prussia. Gossip serves as both social glue and a vehicle for stereotypes and misunderstandings. Pedro x Los Javis, the documentary just released by Movistar+ directed by the latter and with the almost absolute prominence of the former, can be considered, and seen, as a great monument to the courtyard gossip between the great figure, undisputed genius, of contemporary cinema Pedro Almodóvar and two of the filmmakers who have generated the most expectations long before their monumental series La Mesías; that is, Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo. And indeed, setting aside prejudices, the almost fetishistic devotion to Marshmallow armchairs, quilted robes, melodrama, and every line of script of each of the 23 feature films (on the way to 24) by the Manchego turn the miniseries (that's what it is) into the perfect setting for a long session of confidences spread over three 45-minute episodes. But not only that, on the other end, it is also a somnambulist journey, transparent in its unconsciousness, both carnal and mystical, to the very heart of a way of understanding cinema, friendship, life, the power of fiction, and even death. Let's say that the documentary allows and is enjoyed in two readings, the two Kantian ones, from the sublime and from the banal; from the complete illustration of a universal voice, that of Almodóvar, and from the guilty pleasure of gossip.
But it is not advisable, as tempting as it may be, to dwell on the noise and foam of the days. Pedro x Los Javis surprises with its delicate and extremely baroque production capable of replicating the very soul of Almodóvar's cinema. The entire miniseries is wisely structured by the screenwriters Brays Efe and Paloma Rando as a great Sirkian mirror, as a great fiction within a fiction, as a grand and unfinished making of determined to expose the artifice of reality to complete nakedness. "Reality should be prohibited," was the phrase, almost a motto, uttered in The Flower of My Secret by Gloria Muñoz in front of a disproportionate Marisa Paredes (but has anyone ever been better in a movie?) and the series applies this devotion with nothing Franciscan about it. With an evident nod to that already forgotten television of silences and confidences embodied by people like Paloma Chamorro, Pedro x Los Javis alternates archival footage ("If I weren't Pedro Almodóvar, I would want to be God," he is heard saying in one of those interviews that are no longer heard) with a long conversation prostrated on knees, but without a safety net. Structured by themes, the three episodes cover subjects such as friendship (more specifically female friends) and mothers, law and desire, cinema and death. And so, we hear the vibrant prejudice-destroying author who for the first time discovers cinematic grammar in Dark Habits, which is his third feature film (fourth if we include the lost Folle... folle... ¡fólleme Tim!), alongside the master of directors who, shamelessly as always, confesses his latest fear: "I don't understand why something alive has to die... I admire people who believe in God because He is the great shield. The best support to face the inevitable. But the individual must be the owner of his life and also of his death when life only offers you pain."
In between, there is more, much more, and the statements of Esther García (we miss Lola), brother Agustín, or inseparable collaborators José Luis Alcaine (his reflection on white light is beautiful) and Alberto Iglesias alongside each and every one of his actresses (we miss Victoria) and his occasional alter ego Antonio Banderas complete a perfect journey through — paraphrasing the anthropophagic councilwoman — desire as the main driving force of everything. And in the background, the songs. Nathy Peluso reinterprets, not just sings, Puro teatro, by La Lupe, and Luz Casal returns to her Piensa en mí. Albert Pla whispers Soy infeliz, by Lola Beltrán, and Banderas, with Refree on the piano, recovers Déjame recordar, by Bola de Nieve. Guitarricadelafuente appropriates the near miracle of Cucurrucucú paloma and Amaia does the same with the tango Volver embraced with the voice of Penélope Cruz. They are all songs from the Almodóvar universe, from life in Almodóvar's cinema, from Almodóvar seen by the two Javiers. There is gossip, yes, but with emotion, melodrama, and an inexhaustible taste.