“Live Flesh”

Written and directed by Pedro Almodovar, based on the novel by Ruth Rendell. Running time: 100 minutes. Rated R (for nudity, violence, strong language and sexual content). In Spanish with English subtitles. Nightly, May 4-7, Railroad Square Cinema, Waterville.

In Pedro Almodovar’s “Live Flesh,” melodrama slams headfirst into Madrid, where it uncovers in the wake of its considerable debris the spirit of Jackie Collins and Mario Puzo — as seen through the eyes of Spain’s most flamboyant director.

Loosely adapted from Ruth Rendell’s novel about the mind of a rapist, “Live Flesh,” the film, has been greatly reworked by Almodovar, who steers clear of the camp that made him famous, while at the same time adding extra servings of guilt, wit, passion, sex and cinematic polish.

This is Almodovar’s best film since his 1988 classic “Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown,” an outrageous Iberian farce that, along with Madonna’s romantic gushings in “Truth or Dare,” helped to catapult Antonio Banderas to worldwide fame.

One senses the same success is in store for Liberto Rabal, the young Spanish actor who ignites “Live Flesh” with a career-making spark.

As Victor Plaza, Rabal plays a prostitute’s son born on the very day in 1970 that Franco cracked down on personal liberties in Spain. Twenty years later, Franco is dead, Spain has been reborn, and Victor has taken some sexual liberties of his own with a woman named Elena (Francesca Neri), who is the wealthy, drug-abusing daughter of the Italian consul.

Infatuated with Elena and determined to see her again, Victor goes to her apartment uninvited. There a fight breaks out, a gun goes off, and two cops, David (Javier Bardem) and Sancho (Pepe Sancho), are called in. When Sancho begins to struggle with Victor, Victor’s gun fires again, but this time the bullet hits its mark — David’s spine, which shatters, putting him in a wheelchair for life.

Six years later, Victor is released from prison on good behavior; he’s found his own unique kind of religion and received a degree in education. Good for him. But when he learns that Elena has cleaned up her life and married David, he goes after them in a rage that results in a plot swift with sudden turns, deadly consequences, great humor and a surprise ending that brings the film full circle to its witty beginning.

“Live Flesh” succeeds not only because it deliberately pokes fun at pop culture, but because it understands pop culture so well. It has the feel of a Judith Krantz potboiler rewritten by a drunken Raymond Chandler. While it may not be as fantastic as Almodovar’s “Law of Desire” or “Matador,” it doesn’t settle into commonplace realism, either. Indeed, it thrives on the ridiculousness of its own plot. Watching it, one can almost hear Almodovar chuckling as his camera exposes his characters for the animals they truly are.

Grade: B+

Video to Burn

“The Jackal”

Directed by Michael Caton-Jones; screenplay by Chuck Pfarrer, based on the screenplay “The Day of the Jackal” by Kenneth Ross and the novel, “The Jackal,” by Frederick Forsyth. Running time: 123 minutes. Rated R (for language and violence).

Michael Caton-Jones’ remake of Fred Zinnemann’s classic “The Day of the Jackal” is one of those rare films that could make a documentary about mold look interesting. It is a great big long sorry piece of filmmaking that thrills the way a bucket of dirt thrills, which is to say — unless you are a freshly potted bulb or a burrowing worm delighted by spring — it doesn’t thrill at all.

There is so much wrong with “The Jackal” that one barely knows where to begin. For one thing, it’s the latest unnecessary, unsolicited, unsuccessful remake of a classic that was better the first time around.

Second, it stars Bruce Willis as the Jackal, a villain who has been paid $70 million to kill, we are led to believe, the director of the FBI. But Willis, a veteran of thrillers, is woefully miscast here as an intellectual, which he clearly is not. Indeed, what he proves to be in this film is an aging actor desperately trying to stay hip — when what he really should be is ashamed.

Then there’s Richard Gere, who plays an incarcerated Irishman brought in by the FBI to put a stop to all this Jackal madness, when what he really needs to do is demand better vocal coaching, a complete rewrite of the script and the immediate firing of his agent.

Watching this film before the catatonia sets in is very much like watching your elderly grandmother knit a sweater — you know even before the garment grows too long in the sleeve that it simply will not suit.

Grade: F

Christopher Smith, a writer and critic who lives in Brewer, reviews films each Monday in the NEWS.