Madrid, 1987

Madrid, 1987 operates on a dizzying number of levels - as a romantic comedy, a sex farce, a study of culture clash, ageism and idealism - and the highest compliment you can give this ridiculously talky movie (which plays better if you speak Spanish) is that you're a little sad to see the characters go on their way once they part, probably forever.

Miguel uses her beauty and placid demeanor as a screen against which to project his memories of past adventures and the ghost of his libido.

A perceptive, ultra-wordy stab at catching the zeitgeist at a time of change in Spain, David Trueba's two-hander nonetheless feels like a working-out of social and personal themes that hasn't quite achieved the full leap from page to film.

An engrossing two-hander combining the smart-talk microcosm of "My Dinner With Andre" and the sexual dynamics of a Philip Roth novel, David Trueba's Madrid, 1987 is more universal than its title suggests and holds a strong art house appeal.

Deserves commendation for its fearless bravado, if for little else. [25 Oct 2012]

The actors give their characters a resonance beyond the symbolic, but the action doesn't quite transcend the stagy setup.

Sweet, sometimes dull and certainly overlong.