THE HUMAN VOICE: FILM REVIEW
Pedro Almódovar’s The Human Voice is undoubtedly a stressful viewing. The 30-minute short is defined by swift pacing around the room, anxiety-induced smoking habits, and a stiffness that refuses to be shaken. The film is crafted theatrically; Tilda Swinton plays a desperate woman who restlessly watches the time pass while her ex-lover’s suitcases sit in her apartment. It’s been three days since she last saw him. She’s done nothing but numb herself since.
The Human Voice, based upon Jean Cocteau’s play of the same name, graciously teeters on the edge of artifice and realism. In the film’s opening, Tilda Swinton steps out from behind a screen adorning a blood red ballroom dress. Its shade is deeply potent — almost disturbingly so. String music melancholically accompanies Swinton’s careful movements, as she slowly walks across a dark industrial room and sits down on an idle stool. The camera pans to her face, which wears a pained and sorrowful expression. In the next scene, Swinton wears an outfit that stands in stark contrast to her last; she is dressed head-to-toe in black. It is clear that the film’s protagonist is mourning — the viewer just doesn’t know over what.
If not for the film’s serious, classical music soundtrack, many scenes in The Human Voice could be interpreted as comical. In one, Swinton takes a trip to the hardware store with her dog. She wears sunglasses big enough to cover half her face and a blue suit that shows she’s here for business. She eyes the wall holding the item she came to purchase and walks towards it. It is an axe — one the viewer presumes will be used for malice. What does Swinton end up using it for? Hacking at her ex’s suit, which lays on their luxurious bed. As she brings down the axe with a relentless fury, it is clear that although shapeless, the suit is intended to embody her ex-lover. She wants revenge.
While the first ten minutes of The Human Voice shows Swinton in the depths of her spiraling conscience, the latter half of the film centers around a phone call between Swinton and her ex. The camera shows Swinton hobbling across her apartment too intoxicated to walk straight, when suddenly the phone rings. The call is clearly unexpected and from a private number. After the caller’s second attempt at reaching her, Swinton picks up. “Oh it’s you,” she says with relief. This is the moment she’s been waiting for for three days. “Oh, you’re turning into a robot.” She talks to her ex with airpods in her ears, pacing excitedly around the house.
For the viewer, Swinton’s performance is an intensive monologue, as Almódovar intentionally forbids the viewer from ever hearing Swinton’s ex-lover’s voice. The film only captures Swinton’s responses, while leaving out half of the dialogue. But Swinton’s monologue gives viewer more than enough context to assume what is being said on the other line; the tone of her voice is one of desperation and despair. She is aware that this phone call will probably be his last, and she will do whatever it takes to keep him on the line. He wants to hang up.
Almódovar’s The Human Voice is a carefully crafted piece of work — carried not only by the film’s dark soundtrack and stunning costume-design, but particularly Tilda Swinton’s extraordinary performance. She delivers every line and controls each mode of expression with an utmost precision — impressively bringing a complicated and depressive character to life in a short period of time. The film, although quite deeply sad, is still a marvel to watch — as Almódovar seeks to capture the stages of immense grief through the eyes of a character enduring some of its most difficult undertakings.