Review - Carreteras secundarias (Back Roads)

The father-son relationship is so very complex. I should know, having spent the larger part of my childhood being brought up by my father alone (a little slice of my personal history, there). Ignacio Martínez de Pisón's novel (and screenplay) deals with the most complex sort of this relationship.

It's clear from the beginning of the story that Felipe, the teenage protagonist through whose eyes we see Spain nearing the end of the Franco dictatorship in the mid 1970s, resents his father for being a fake. Their existence consists of travelling around the coast of the country in a 1974 black Citröen DS, his father attempting to sell various contraband products under the guise of a respectable entrepreneur while Felipe drifts in and out of school getting into fighs and being contracted by his father as free labour. Underneath all of Felipe's bubbling fury, though, there is a genuine love, as Felipe comes to realise that although their life is far from conventional, he wouldn't have it any other way. Their journey is a metaphor for their literal position as marginal, preripheral members of Spanish society. From this position, both Felipe and his father are able to observe and comment of the state of the country, although never really able to integrate.

Felipe's voice is probably one of the most engaging first-person narratives I have ever encountered. At once reminiscent of JD Salinger's Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye, Felipe has a gift at picking out the hypocrisy of adult behaviour. Among the people he and his father meet are his father's idiotic girlfriends - the latest of which is a self-centred singer of canción española, considered by many Spaniards as a particularly unattractive and tacky genre - and his barely reputable friends, all of whom are scammers. Even the supposedly respectable people are cruel, unresponsive or even oppositional to Felipe's individuality. The only people Felipe considers positvely are Paquita - his father's only decent girlfriend, a hippy who doesn't consider theft for the sake of food a crime - and Miranda, a black texan girl who stays with her father in an American military base near where one of Felipe's father's schemes is based. Felipe feels an immediate affinity to those who are not accepted into the mainstream: most notably making an idol of Patricia Hearst, for having rebelled against her father.

After his father spends a brief spell in prison, though, Felipe comes to realise that there is a certain nobility in his father's actions - the story of how his parents met, and how far his father was prepared to go in order to defend his love from the attacks of his disapproving, upper-class family is a little too romantic, but very effective in the context of the narrative. Furthermore, when Felipe realises that his father has constantly maintained his devotion to bringing Felipe up "correctly", despite their harsh circumstances, the narrator describes in a strikingly eloquent passage just how similar he and his father are. One gets the sense that the older Felipe narrator is looking back wistfully and maybe even with nostalgia at the strained, yet extremely close relationship he had with his father, suggesting that the latter's death may have been an inspirtation for him to write the memoir.

Of course, the real author is Martínez de Pisón, who translates the novel to a screenplay effortlessly, and with only a few minor changes to the details of the story. Most significantly, Felipe's father is given a name - Antonio - and the explanation given for the latter's feud with his family is less clear, perhaps hinting that Antonio is still far from perfect. I suspect the shift from first-person narration to objective third-person camera is the main motivation for these shifts, and the film is probably better off for them. My highest praise if for the actors, especially Fernando Ramallo, who plays a suitably angry Felipe, yet sweet during the moments in which he meets Paquita and Miranda. Ramallo's energy on screen, mixed with his youth and vibrancy prove he was well cast, and his portrayal earned him a nomination at the Goya awards (Spanish Oscars) for Best Newcomer. Antonio Resines gives a fantastic performance as his fictional namessake, carrying an air of loveable pomposity and roguishness, making him a far more likeable character than in the novel. Again, one suspects the change of narrative angle was a focal point in this interpretation. Finally, Maribel Verdú - possibly the most versatile Spanish actress of her generation - pops up once again, as Paquita, playing it suitably kooky, but with an overt sexuality which is both playful and predatory.

As far as I know, there is not English translation of Martínez de Pisón's work, but the film is available on DVD - in Region 1 only, which is odd, considering it is a Spanish release - with English subtitles. I recommend it to all in either medium.