How annoying is it for you to go and see a film that no-one else knows about, and walk out with the perfect description: only to find out everyone else agrees with you. Unconscious (Inconscientes in Spanish) is a Psychoanalytical Screwball Comedy. I was so pleased when I realised that was what it was. Much like a high concept 1930’s screwballer starring Hepburn and Grant, its Bringing Up Baby with Freud instead of a Leopard.
And damn everyone else who noticed. Of course this is not a film that is not on in many places, so at least it is just critics I am agreeing with. But they all spotted its screwball nature – and not just for the copious slapstick. They also all seem to agree that it is seven shades of okay. It could be a bit funnier, some of its sexual politics are as dated as the time it is set. But Unconscious is the best film you’ll see this year that most people haven’t seen. Thus for kudos you can vote it high in your end of year charts and be smug that you stand out from the crowd. Because it is the best screwball comedy of the noughties.
Of course there have barely been any screwball comedies in the noughties, and watching Unconscious you can see why. The naivety required for the genre is just difficult for most actors to muster. The male lead Luis Tosar manages to fake it by use of massive mutton chops. But the female lead: Leonor Watling (better known as the vegetative state woman who came back in Talk To Her) is shockingly good. It doesn’t hurt that she looks terrific as she lurches from one neurotic comic set piece to the next: but she has a kind of wound up tension which turns tragedy into comedy: and explodes on the rare occasion she smiles (as in the poster). The plot could be tighter, and the shocking revelations are often spoiled by the chapters inter-titles – but its just good dirty old fashioned fun.
Okay, how about this for a description no-one else has used. A Spanish Beiderbecke Affair, where Jazz is substituted for Psycholanalysis.