I’m So Excited
Pedro Almodovar
The story: A plane en-route from Madrid to Mexico City encounters equipment trouble and pilots Alex (Antonio de la Torre) and Benito (Hugo Silva) have to look for a runway for an emergency landing. Meanwhile, gay stewards Joserra (Javier Camara), Fajas (Carlos Areces) and Ulloa (Raul Arevalo) try to keep spirits up with a heady mix of alcohol, drugs and a campy routine to The Pointer Sisters’ signature hit, I’m So Excited. The kooky passengers in business class include high-class dominatrix Norma (Cecilia Roth) and psychic virgin Bruna (Lola Duenas).

In times of crisis, people reveal their true colours and dark secrets. And with life and death at stake here, skeletons come tumbling out in a hurry.
Married pilot Alex has to juggle his marriage with his affair with Joserra, the chief steward on the flight. And bicurious pilot Benito (think of Silva as a sexier version of Zach Braff) gradually comes to terms with his sexuality with a little help from Ulloa.
Fluid sexual identity is a constant theme in the films of Spanish film-maker Pedro Almodovar and it has been compellingly explored in works such as All About My Mother (1999) and Bad Education (2004). Here, he is content to milk the topic for laughs.
The bunch of actors are all game.
Camara is a hoot as he drinks like a fish and proclaims his inability to tell a lie, Areces is a religious fanatic with an eye on the hunky newly wed groom while Arevalo is the deadpan and slutty one. Together, they put on a campy-licious rendition of I’m So Excited, lip-syncing and sashaying along with the best of them.
Apart from the sexual shenanigans among the flight crew, there are also the stories of the passengers to delve into. But in the end, there are simply too many balls to juggle in this screwball comedy.
There is the dominatrix who fears that someone is after her life, the father hoping to reconnect with his runaway daughter, the mysterious Mexican who carries with him the stench of death and the psychic virgin looking to get lucky.
Some of the detours get draggy, particularly the one involving an actor, his depressive-suicidal girlfriend and his ex.
It all culminates in an alcohol- and drug-fuelled session of mile-high-club loving as crew and passengers pair off and make out. Everyone, that is, except for the poor sods in economy class who have all passed out after having been doped with muscle relaxants.
Maybe there is a point here about class division and discrimination, but it is not something the writer-director is overly concerned with.
File this under Almodovar-lite.
(ST)