The Dead Mother (1993) Dark Spanish Thriller with a Super Daring Twist (Review)

Spanish language genre cinema might be incredible as far as the UK is concerned, but we don’t know as so little makes it over to these shores. Of the few names that have appeared on our radars, the most well-known are directors like Guillermo Del Toro and Álex de la Iglesia, films like [REC], and a few bits and pieces from Mexico. Beyond that short list it’s a mystery – despite the promotional material for this release explaining that there was a Spanish genre explosion which is news to me. And so enter Radiance Films with their conglomerate of affiliate labels, and through Altered Innocence, the UK Blu-ray community received Arrebato, and now we have Juanma Bajo Ulloa’s The Dead Mother.

Shot in crumbling buildings, moodily lit in a way that makes many a scene appear impressionist in inspiration, The Dead Mother melds together the world of art thieves with trauma and kidnap. Ismael (Karra Elejalde, Timecrimes), breaks into the house of a fine art restorer, but when the homeowner appears he kills her, and leaves her onlooking daughter completely traumatised. Years later, Ismael sees the severely disabled daughter again in an assisted living home, and paranoid that time may have finally caught up, he and his lover turned partner in crime, Maite (Lio), follow her and her carer home. There, they kidnap the teenage Leire (Ana Alvarez), and hold her hostage, demanding her hospital pays a ransom. Meanwhile, in Ismael’s gothic, dilapidated home the trio develop a strange bond as, unable to get a ransom, Ismael connects with the mute Leire instead of murdering her as he promised, leaving Maite to become jealous and justifiably incredulous about her partner’s questionable feelings.

A dramatic thriller akin to the films the Coen Brothers made during their ’90s golden-era, The Dead Mother is a love triangle where the dynamics include far more shades of grey than a story with those trappings typically would. We’re talking about one of the most daring examples of reverse Stockholm syndrome I’ve seen, and given that the normal condition concerns a psychological bond forming between a hostage and their captor, you can begin to see where this might go. In Ulloa’s film (co-written with his younger brother Eduardo), Ismael feelings for his hostage evolve from trying to make the bed-ridden mute Leire laugh (even while always keeping a chain around her neck), to something more “hands-on” once events relocate to a nearby abandoned church. Maite has no choice but to put up with her partner in crime as she attempts to be the criminal in this criminal duo.

Radiance Film’s latest is fascinating for many reasons beyond its twisting of timeworn home invasion tropes, and if you were so inclined, you could call such scenes and instances funny, the same way that the darkest comedies are ‘funny’. A strong example of this is the initial kidnapping, whose success hinges on a condiment smothered across the kitchen floor of Leire’s carer, and further instances include a hospital nurse failing to escape after they wet themselves – which Ulloa uses the urine on the floor as a vehicle for heightened tension. In a later scene the group are separated for reasons I won’t divulge, and Ismael finds himself missing Leire after seeing a baby’s sh*tty nappy – which elegantly communicates the inappropriate nature of this whole escapade, and how toxic a character Ismael is. He never once questions how he uses sex as a weapon against Maite, and he sees Leire (a young woman who needs help going to the toilet, who can’t speak and has been chained up like an animal in some old-world barbaric circus), as a potential conquest. It’s on that theme that the script delivers a wonderfully just fate for the film’s protagonist-cum-antagonist, and chocolate has rarely been so delicious and full of irony.

Whether the Ulloa brothers’ movie sinks or swims comes down to the pacing, and personally I think it crawls to a halt far too often. At 90 minutes this would be a stone-cold forgotten classic, but at just short of 2 hours it overstays its welcome. There’s a mundanity that’s uncommon in movies about hostages or that feature Stockholm syndrome, and while entirely intentional, it may well test the patience of those who don’t buy into this deeply awkward, unpleasant conceit. Part of that awkwardness stems from having an able-bodied actor play a severely disabled young woman, and if that bothers you then this is not the film for you.

As ever, Radiance films have brought the good stuff, and the print included in this new release really brings the contrast-heavy cinematography into glorious focus, allowing the micro facial expressions of the otherwise minimal script to sink in. Elsewhere on the disc we have a number of noteworthy extras, starting with the obligatory “making of” in The Story of The Dead Mother (2008, 38 mins). Other extras include a Goya Award-winning short film by Ulloa – Victor’s Kingdom (1989, 38 mins), and a limited-edition soundtrack CD featuring Bingen Mendizábal’s score (exclusive to the limited edition) – a musical composition that is the cherry on the gothic cake. There’s also the now regular booklet that features new writing on the film from Xavier Aldana Reyes (author of Spanish Gothic: National Identity, Collaboration and Cultural Adaptation), newly translated archival writing from Juanma Bajo Ulloa, co-writer Eduardo Bajo Ulloa, and an appreciation by Nacho Vigalondo.

Brilliantly acted across the board by its slender cast, shot with a colour palette that communicates doom and desperation, and ram-packed with quiet, brooding suspense, The Dead Mother is a compelling entry into the canon of 1990s genre cinema. While it doesn’t reach the territory of the classic, it’s worth seeking out for people engaged in this era of crime dramas.

Rob’s Archive – The Dead Mother (1993)