It all starts in the sun-drenched dunes of Maspalomas, a popular gay destination of Gran Canaria. The scenario looks barely European, with an arid vegetation and landscape (in fact the Spanish region sits firmly on the African plate). Septuagenarian Vicente (Jose Ramon Soroiz) has an elegant moustache and a charming, vaguely timid smile. He enjoys life to the full with his manifold friends and lovers. He watches the boisterous local Winter Pride celebrations from the comfort of his balcony. And he has abundant sex with men of all ages, be that on the beach or in the local sex club. The unabashed, very explicit gay orgies, and the sense of complete sexual freedoms evoke the first half of Sebastian Silva’s dirtylicious Rotting in the Sun (2023).
A stroke sends Vicente from the sex dungeon straight to hospital. Three months later and Vicente is back in an old people’s home in his native San Sebastian, in the Basque country. The building is dark and bleak, and the weather is cold. A far cry from the golden Canary beaches. He is barely recognisable. His seriously overgrown hair and beard have turned white, and his skin is flaccid and dry. Vicente was in a comma for sometime, and his elderly best friend Ramon did not have the strength to look after him. His estranged daughter Nerea (in a deep, solemn and heartfelt performance by Nagore Aranburu) has decided to visit him. They have not seen each other for 25 years. That’s when Vicente left his family in order to be with a man with whom he fell in love. He cut ties with all relatives. His uncles and aunts could never “understand” him, a deeply hurt yet kind and honourable Nerea ascertains.
To make it all worse, a very weak Vicente has to share his room with a reactionary straight man called Xanti, who despises the left wing and “feminazis”, and adores boasting his physical prowess. His carer Inaki, a young and good-looking gay man, is a very painful reminder of his very recent, sex-oriented past, which now seems a million light years away. Vicente does not tell anyone about his homosexuality, such a vital element of his life (and one that defined it until the near-fatal stroke). This omission caters for some of the movie’s most hilarious moments: Vicente communicates with Inaki on a cruising app, and drops his mobile phone on the floor after receiving a picture of his large and erected penis.
Despite some hilarious developments, Maspalomas is not a comedy. Instead, this is a very deep movie about self-acceptance, forgiving, compassion, tolerance, solidarity, and finding comfort in the most unlikely of places. Xanti turns out to be supportive and caring, and largely to credit for Vicente;’s slow yet steady recovery. In addition, Maspalomas deserves praise for ints candid depiction of gay and of old age sex (and the intersection of the two). A man and a woman – both so old, frail and shaky that they can barely stand – are consistently horny, leaving some of the fellow residents perplexed. Instead of reprimanding them, the staff puts them in room where they have more privacy, The movie bestows no judgment on the ardent, often devient sexuality of its various characters.
Almost entirely spoken in Basxque, Jose Mari Goenaga and Aitor Arregi’s third feature film together (the script was written by Goenaga on his own) provides insight into a fascinatingly developed and progressive society seeking to reconcile wounds from the past with its more promising present and future, as well as bridging the gap between different generations, genders, sexualities, political leanings and geographies. The story avoids every conceivable cliche about gay life in favour of more humanistic representations. The characters – all multidimensional, fallible and and loveable in equal measure – learn to communicate and to respect each other, without slipping into didactic platitudes. The most remarkable quality of Maspalomas is its unapologetic sense of empathy. Everyone deserves to be respected fr their personal choides.
Maspalomas was in the Official Competition of the 73rd San Sebastian International Film Festival, when this piece wasz originally written. One of the favourite films to win the event’s top prize, the Golden Shell. The prize went to Spanish films Afternoons of Solitude (Albert Serra) and The Rye Horn (Jaione Camborda) last year and the year before, respectively.
Basque-language cinema is no stranger to LGBT+ films dealing with deep-rooted prejudices, and with a message of hope. Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren’s 20,000 Species of Bees (2023) achieved critical acclaim and widespread distribution. I would hazard a guess that Maspalomas will follow in its footsteps.
Also showing at the 69th BFI London Film Festival.
