‘Calle Málaga’ Review: A Luminous Carmen Maura Brings Warmth, Magnetism and Indomitable Pluck to Touching Moroccan Domestic Drama

For those of us who have loved Carmen Maura since the first of her seven features with Pedro Almodóvar 45 years ago, watching her expressive face in Calle Málaga is its own wondrous reward. Now 80, the veteran Spanish actress shines in a rare later-life leading role as a woman suddenly robbed of her independence only to seize it back and run with it for as long as it lasts. Those turns of fortune would be legible even if this were a silent movie; we watch the vibrancy drain from Maura’s eyes in moments of defeat and sorrow, only to return with a glint of mischievous triumph, and later, invigorating sensuality.

The film was inspired by and is dedicated to director Maryam Touzani’s grandmother, part of the large Spanish community in Tangier that had fled the Franco regime and settled in the Northern Moroccan city in the 1930s. It doesn’t match the subtlety or complexity of Touzani’s gorgeous 2022 Cannes discovery The Blue Caftan, about a queer relationship triangle. But it does have comparable intimacy, delicacy and suppleness that draw you in, making even the more predictable story beats forgivable. Most of all, it has Maura in magnificent form.

In poignant scenes at intervals throughout, Maura’s María Ángeles visits the cemetery where many from her circle of friends, along with her husband, are buried. As she lovingly tends the graves and at one point assembles the pieces of a broken tombstone like a jigsaw puzzle, it’s impossible not to think of the exquisite opening of Almodóvar’s Volver, in which women from the pueblo gather to wash their ancestors’ burial sites in an annual tradition. While Maura doesn’t appear in that scene, the grave of her character does, setting up a playful ghost story element.

Like Volver, Calle Málaga also deals with a testy mother-daughter relationship. Born in Tangier to Spanish parents, María Ángeles lives out her widowhood with cheerful self-sufficiency. She greets the market vendors by name, buying produce and spices on the street that gives the film its title; waters the flowers on her balcony while observing the passing parade below; sits in her rocking chair in contented contemplation; and swoons to the romantic boleros she plays on her beloved stereo. The pleasure María Ángeles still gets from this simple life is palpable.

At first, she’s delighted to welcome her daughter Clara (Marta Etura), on one of her infrequent visits from Madrid, as are the neighbors and shopkeepers who have known her since childhood. But Clara soon bluntly informs her mother that a messy divorce and the difficulties of raising her kids on a nurse’s salary have made it necessary for her to sell the Tangier apartment, which her father put in her name to avoid complications.

It scarcely seems to have occurred to Clara that her mother might not jump at the chance to come live with her grandchildren in the Spanish capital. But María Ángeles indignantly tells her she was born in Tangier and intends to die there. Her connection to the city is a large part of what defines her. Clara offers the alternative of a room in a subsidized assisted living facility for Spanish seniors, stressing that they need to move fast to get in on an opening.

The film strikes a melancholy note in its observations of how a parent and child can grow apart, as María Ángeles talks of the difficulty in reconciling the happy child Clara was with the bitter adult she has become.

Maura is marvelous stomping around the apartment in a cold fury and refusing to speak to Clara, who proceeds regardless with broker negotiations and brings in antiques dealer Abslam (Ahmed Boulane) to buy up the contents. He lowballs them on a price to take everything off their hands, prompting María Ángeles to label him a bastard in one of the chats that punctuate the movie with her lifelong friend Sister Josefa (María Alfonsa Rosso). Amusingly, the elderly nun’s vow of silence permits her only a chiding glance whenever unfiltered María Ángeles’ conversation turns salty.

Touzani, who co-wrote Calle Málaga with her husband, producer and fellow director Nabil Ayouch, shows her customary sensitivity in suggesting the ways in which a physical space can contain an entire lifetime of precious memories.

If the script is a tad heavy-handed in making Clara seem almost indifferent to her mother’s suffering, Touzani is too generous a director not to allow the character some redeeming displays of conscience before the domestic drama plays out. Likewise, Abslam reveals a softer side, forcing María Ángeles to admit to Josefa that maybe he’s not the “cabrón” she thought.

Given no choice, María Ángeles acquiesces to her daughter’s wishes and moves into the seniors’ home, where a hilarious exchange with a hairdresser wanting to chop off her long silver tresses typifies her iron-willed refusal to settle in. No sooner has Clara returned to Madrid than María Ángeles checks herself out with some convincing deception and returns to her now-emptied apartment.

She starts buying back her furniture from Abslam, but when her cash runs low, she’s forced to come up with a quick money-making scheme. Touzani keeps the caper aspect light and unforced as María Ángeles starts hosting soccer nights with help from her teenage neighbor (La Imèn) and another young local (Ghali Errazqi), whom she enlists to round up customers. For the price of admission, they get to crowd into her living room and watch the match on her flatscreen, while being served tapas and beer.

As with other gray-empowerment films like Thelma, there’s a touch of corniness in María Ángeles’ determination and resilience, which extends to a hint of blackmail to stop the real estate agent from blabbing to Clara. But Maura never overdoes the feisty granny bit. She keeps the character so warm and grounded that most viewers — especially those over a certain age — will be happy to go with it.

The movie’s loveliest section is when Abslam starts to see her with new eyes, admiring her resourcefulness as a gentle romance blooms. But not so gentle that it precludes a joyful sexual reawakening, tastefully filmed but drolly detailed in María Ángeles’ account to Josefa. Not often is an older woman’s sexuality celebrated on screen with such candor.

There are sad losses and an inevitable collision with reality. But Touzani chooses to conclude the story with open-ended ambiguity rather than follow through on the formulaic happy ending the script has been teasing. The film benefits from its avoidance of a too-tidy, sentimental outcome, even if some in the audience might be left craving one.

Belgian Polish cinematographer Virginie Surdej, who shot The Blue Caftan and Touzani’s 2019 debut feature, Adam, brings a burnished glow to the visuals, quietly reminding us why María Ángeles has such deep ties to her birthplace. The soft light of the interiors provides a delicate contrast to the sun-drenched market street or the crisp blue skies over coastal roads when Abslam starts taking her out in his convertible. And the director makes discerning use of Freya Arde’s elegant score.

Performances are solid throughout, notably from Boulane, who turns up the gentlemanly charm by infinitesimal degrees. But the movie is a sweet star showcase that belongs unequivocally to the incandescent Maura, whose earthy naturalness, sly humor and tenacious spirit feed a direct link back to her Almodóvarian glory days.