MY TRAVEL PHILOSOPHY

Every time I get up to go on a trip I feel an irresistible need to stay at home. As if every trip signified the end of a stage in my life, which the journey turns into an irreparable loss. It doesn’t matter if the reason for the trip is pleasure and enjoyment. That sensation, a mixture of failure, melancholy and anticipated nostalgia, always accompanies me when I set out on a trip.

On the way to Torrejón airport, I read El País and Les Inrocks. And I feel a sudden, urgent need to read all the books that are reviewed in Babelia, the literary supplement. (“El asombroso vieje de Pomponio Flato” by Eduardo Mendoza, “God isn’t Great” by Christopher Hitchens, etc.), to see all that shows that are recommended, buy all the CDs that attract me at first sight in Les Inrocks, listen to all of them and choose the ones that seduce me immediately.
Every time I go to an airport I think I’m abandoning my own life, that I’m adrift.

When I reach the airport, I start to take the first notes accompanied by the agreeable presence of the Slaves of El Deseo (Bárbara Peiró, my Intermediary with the Outside World, Lola García, Responsible for Internal Affairs, Esther García, El Deseo’s Director of Production), my brother Agustín, his wife Casilda and a whirlwind called Bibiana, who arrives in a flurry because of her extremely busy Monagesque agenda. As well as the many official acts, she’s got her own program, her own programs, I mean, which include “The Ana Rosa Program”, a few fashion magazines and a few radio programs.
Boris Aguirre, for his part, arrives hot on our heels, because of friendship, emotional involvement and also because of the exclusive he’s agreed with the weekly magazine “Hola” to write a chronicle of the event, inches away from its protagonists.

The slaves of El Deseo, S.A. © Pedro Almodóvar

The Alaska-Vaquerizos will tell their experiences in their recently created blog and I, as you are seeing, am doing the same with mine.
I tell Bibi how surprised I am at such an accumulation of chroniclers. Aren’t we going too far, going as Ambassadors of the Movida and multiplying ourselves at the same time into detailed chroniclers of ourselves? Is there not something predatory with regard to their serene Monagesque highnesses, unaware of what is ahead of them?
I get the impression that we’re skipping a stage in the natural process of “living to tell the tale”.

I think of the early days of journalism-fiction, when Truman Capote formed part of the Rolling Stones’ crew on their Russian tour, back in the 70s.
Ignoring the fact that none of us has a gram of Capote’s talent, I don’t know if it’s a good idea that, in an excess of enthusiasm, we have become our own Capotes.
I remark on this to Bibi but I don’t reach any conclusion.
“It’s nerves about the trip”, she tells me, “I’m a nervous wreck”.
The only thing on her mind is to cause the same sensation in Monaco as Carla Bruni did on her recent visit to the English court.

MA VIE EN BLUE

Blue in the afternoon, when we arrive, blue like the sea on the Côte d’Azur, blue like the eyes of the princes in fairy tales and like the blood of princes. Relaxing, simple, pure blue for these baroque, bizarre and dizzy-making surroundings.

Ma vie en bleu © Pedro Almodóvar

Monaco, in the afternoon. As soon as I hang up my tuxedo, designed for the occasion by Stefano Pilati, the soul of Yves Saint Laurent, my work obsession means that, instead of staying in the hotel and having a brief siesta, I turn up at the general rehearsal-sound test for the gala, which is taking place in the same room where the Rose Ball will be held.
In a record time (three days) Blanca Li, François Marcadé and their technical crew, protected by the helping, pragmatic eyes of Princess Caroline, have organized a stunning and very varied spectacle of varietés, with the irreverent, exaggerated aroma of the spirit of the Movida.

Rehearsal of the acknowledgement, after the tribute clip. © Pedro Almodóvar

In Madrid (where I am busy preparing my film and where I’ve just left, so to speak, Penélope trying out clothes for her character of Magdalena), I was a little apprehensive that the great Monagesque adventure might turn out to be a bit of a disaster because of the haste and the size of the event. I was all prepared to pretend and proclaim to the four media winds that everything had been ideal. If I had to lie, of course, I would lie.

Wardrobe tests, Penélope. © Pedro Almodóvar

I admit that that I had my doubts, at a human level (there was the possibility that there wouldn’t be chemistry with their serene highnesses, those things happen) and also at an artistic level (that the show would be a mess or the least suitable thing for such a special occasion).
But all my fears disappeared as soon as I put my white Lanvin sneakers in the vestibule of the Monte Carlo Sporting Club.

THE OMNIPRESENT THORN

I loved the area leading to the enormous salon where the ceremony would be held, I mean the vestibule of the Monte Carlo Sporting Club from where you have access to the great Rose designed by Gatti, for the photocall. The space, which would be the equivalent of the red carpet, was flanked by a mixture of Mediterranean beach kiosks from the 60s and stalls from a flower or fruit market, all with posters of my films entwined around the flowers and their thorns.

Decoration of the vestibule, before photo call 1. © Pedro Almodóvar

Decoration 2. © Pedro Almodóvar

I really liked that, as the design of the invitation suggested, the enormous pink roses were trimmed with flexible branches of thorns. In such a festive, baroque act, the omnipresent thorns (the tables where we would dine later were full of them) represented the essence of Spanish culture, one of whose characteristics has been the fusion of humor and grief as two sides of the same coin. In our best drama, our painting, our cinema, our life… we have always defended ourselves from grief (the omnipresent thorn) and from death with humor and a black joy, even in despair, above all in despair.

Decoration 3. © Pedro Almodóvar

Decoration 4. © Pedro Almodóvar

The rehearsal of the show, on the great stage of the salon of the Monte Carlo Sporting Club, was already a celebration in every sense and for all the senses. “Post-mo” cabaret routines full of irreverent humor, radiant with eroticism always covered by the minimal, precise amount of sequins. The walls were full of references to the Madrid Movida, enormous reproductions of Ouka Lele’s colored photographs, posters and graphic material from my films, enormous collages of Dis Berlin. And in the middle of the salon, the real mistress of ceremonies, the person responsible for all that, the great lady of the day and of the night, Her Highness Princess Caroline, controlling everything, working with the obsession, tenacity and responsibility of a film director or a soccer coach.

Details of the walls of the Monte Carlo Sporting Club 1. © Pedro Almodóvar

Details 2. © Pedro Almodóvar

Holding on to her glass of champagne, zero protocol, Caroline greeted me with the warmth and complicity of an old friend. And this instant friendship grew and deepened over the twenty four hours that we spent in the Principality.
Talking of the little time they’d had, she told me that at the first Rose Ball, which her mother organized, Sammy Davis Jr. was in charge of the show for the gala, but he became indisposed the night before, I didn’t really understand if it was from alcohol or drugs or both, and her mother, Princess Grace, without thinking twice, called her friend Josephine Baker in Paris, and Baker turned up there with her feathers and her bananas. The guests at the party included Burt Bacharach who, when he heard of the void on the stage, asked them to bring a piano. He took care of the rest. The result was both wonderful and unplanned.
I got the impression that Caroline is used to taking risks and improvising and that uncertainty forms part of her life. Or perhaps all this is a hypothesis of mine. That fact is that the famous Ball hasn’t lost its supportive, surprising spirit.

Caroline of Monaco and Pedro Almodóvar. First photo after the first kiss. © Pedro Almodóvar

MA VIE EN ROSE

At night she introduced me to the whole family, her sweet brother, Prince Albert (he spoke to me in Spanish, charming), her entertaining husband, Ernest of Hanover (one of the great revelations for the Spanish troupe, a smart, intelligent, very cultured man who tried at all times to be entertaining, a real showman at close quarters). I don’t know who, I think it was Bibi, who told him that “that was a marvellous night” and Ernest of Hanover replied “all nights are marvellous”, which expresses a real philosophy of life, and a tragedy-proof optimism, in a family with several tragedies behind them). She also introduced me to her children Pierre and Charlottte. Charlotte really impressed me. Photos don’t do her justice, she is one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen. They also introduced me to Charlene Wistock, but she didn’t catch my name nor I hers.

First meeting with Prince Albert and his girlfriend Charlene Wistock. © SBM

The family plus two. © SBM

The hosts and the spanish team. © SBM

The person I spoke to most during the whole party was Caroline, even though I was struggling against the disproportionate competition of Karl Lagerfeld, her spiritual father.

Smiles and murmurs in an ear (Pedro Almodóvar, Karl Lagerfeld, Jacobo and Princess Caroline). © Pedro Almodóvar
		Delighted to meet the exuberant Madame Lagardère under Charlotte’s curious gaze and Lagerfeld’s camera. © Pedro Almodóvar

The princess had a great time the whole evening, she remarked on every detail to me, she appreciated everything as if she had lived the Madrid nightlife in full (and in depth), it seemed that she spoke Spanish because she understood everything, assimilated everything.
Together we admired Mariola Fuentes, Paco Clavel, Luz Casal and Jacobo, the Spanish dancer who does the belly dance among other oriental fantasies. Jacob’s presence considerably increased the levels of humidity and desire in the great salon.

Dancing at the Ball, with the dancer Jacobo, Esther García and Princess Caroline. © Pedro Almodóvar

When Luz, serene and majestic, with impressive vocal conditions, sang “Piensa en mí”, Caroline thanked me for revealing that song to her as if it were my own work. I told her that the inventor of Luz’s version was a Mexican singer called Chavela Vargas. Caroline’s expression changed, trying to remember, and that gave me grounds to tell her: Chavela knew your mother in Los Angeles, in the early 50s. I think they did a bit of partying together. Caroline admitted that the name sounded familiar and that at that time her mother had a lot to do with Mexico, those were the times of Ricardo Montalban, she told me, she even mentioned the words “Mexican connection”. I told her that “Piensa en mí” was written by Agustín Lara, husband of María FÉlix. And she also had words of admiration for the Mexican beauty par excellence.

BIBI (LA VIE EN ROUGE)

Bibiana Fernández, my partner on the trip and in the photo on the invitation, deserves a chapter apart. Travelling with her, being with her, is being in permanent contact with a hymn of gratitude to life.
From the creature who, in the late 50s and early 60s, pursued Ursula Andress and Jean Paul Belmondo through Tangiers to get their autographs, waiting for days outside Gore Vidal’s house, where they were staying, having to ask for some “harira” –a kind of soup- from the Moroccan women so as not to die of hunger during the wait. From that creature to the elegant blonde woman who arrived at Torrejón airport to accompany me to Monaco there is as much difference as that which exists between harsh reality and a fairy tale.

She has treated life very well and life has repaid her many times over. For Bibi, this trip was another fantasy come true. Which shows that you have to believe firmly in the dreams and fantasies that you harbor about your own person and your own life.

She arrived at the height of her Carla Bruni syndrome. As Empress Consort of the Movida in Monagesque lands, her latest influence was the photos of Bruni with the Queen of England and with the English Prime Minister Gordon Brown. According to Bibi, Carla was perfect (also fulfilling a dream that in real life suits her down to the ground). Bibi wanted to possess the naturalness of Carla Bruni in her imposture.

It’s a miracle that the little girl who ran around Tangiers after the celebrities was sitting the other night at the most important table of the evening, between the wizard shoemaker Christian Louboutin and Karl Lagerfeld.

Smiles and cheekbones (Bibi, Mario, Pedro, Princess Caroline and Alaska). © Pedro Almodóvar

Caroline was on Lagerfeld’s right and I was on her right. On my right was Albert of Monaco’s girlfriend, Charlene Wistock, a beautiful South African swimmer with a broader back than yours truly, something that isn’t hard because God denied me the possibility of carrying bags over my shoulder and created me with narrow shoulders that slope like the sides of a pyramid, a reason which more than explains my lack of faith in God.

I was greatly moved to see at close hand how Bibiana’s tanned slenderness rose up from a very red strapless Dior at the grand gala of the Rose Ball. We, rather than the children in hospital who are cared for by the Princess Grace Foundation, were the great beneficiaries of the Benefit Gala.

In the afternoon, during rehearsals, Bibiana had the chance to experience a banal but very notable moment: in any case, it gave her a real thrill.
A few months before she had told me that one of her favourite photos of Princess Caroline was one in which she was talking to Karl Lagerfeld at a party. The princess, absorbed in the words of the German genius, was holding a glass of wine and a cigarette in the same hand. For Bibi it is an emblematic photo that proves one can be a great lady and at the same time be overflowing with vitality.

Bibi’s tribute. © Pedro Almodóvar

Rehearsals were continuing on the stage, Bibi had her back to the princess, as you can see in the photo. And in homage to her she was holding a glass of red wine and a cigarette in the same hand.
I hope the princess won’t be angry at this sincere and perhaps extravagant tribute.

MY HEARING AND THE SWIMMER

Throughout my life as a director I’ve done a lot of socializing and I think that the world has treated me well but, despite that, I consider myself a disaster for social life.
I’m not lacking in the ability to communicate or in interest for others, but I’m deaf in my right ear and, at a long table full of diners, those who are seated at my right disappear, they don’t exist, and if by chance I see someone speaking to me I have to turn my neck 180º like Linda Blair in “The Exorcist” in order to hear through my left ear what the person on my right is saying. A whole routine. At times I warn people about it before sitting down at a table, but I didn’t do so in Monaco.

Throughout the evening, the swimmer must have been trying for quite a long time to communicate with me. I turned to her by chance and heard her say: You are bullshitting me… The horror! I was extremely apologetic. And I explained about the deafness in my right ear. She believed it and that was an end to it. But I felt awful, because I was imagining that my Spanish post-war deafness undoubtedly made her feel pushed aside in circumstances to which she is obviously not accustomed.

From what she confessed to me, Charlene has only been in Europe for a year (because my heart is here, she specified. To which I replied that that is the best reason for being anywhere). I imagine that everything she saw and heard must have been very different from her routine as a top ranking South African sportswoman. I would have liked to be of greater help to her. It was the only black spot in a perfect night. Mea culpa.

FINAL SPEECH

At the end, edited to the rhythm of “Un año de amor” sung by Luz Casal, a clip was shown with images from all my films. They were three and half very moving minutes. The people stood up to applaud and I got up with them. What else could I do!

I went up on stage to express my gratitude for the enormous effort involved in making such a tribute and to open the Ball, after presenting Fangoria, the group responsible for getting everyone present to dance. There were only two phrases that I had to memorize. At the beginning, when referring to the princes and princess, I had to address them as “Monseigneur, Altesses…” and I wanted to end with the words, “This is a ball, so let’s dance”. And I did that but, in between, as well as saying thank you in my name and in that of all the Spanish artists presents and absent for such a superlative, generous tribute, I mentioned something that for me was essential. In paying tribute to the Madrid culture of the 80s, to our music, our aesthetic, our unending thirst for pleasure and enjoyment, I wanted to remind them that they were paying tribute to Spain’s transition to freedom and democracy. Nothing of what they had seen there, not a single frame in my films, would have been possible if we hadn’t been living in freedom in Spain.

Tribute to the Cine Doré, the Spanish Filmothèque. © Pedro Almodóvar

After saying the word freedom for the second time, there was great applause, which means that, despite my poor English, the sophisticated public at the Rose Ball had understood my words perfectly.
And that filled me with pride and satisfaction.

Pedro Almodóvar.