This weekend I traveled to my elder sister’s house for a pig roast. The reason for this event is that my younger sister will be getting married next month and the two soon to be joined families were getting together to celebrate. It was to be a day of food, family and binge drinking. Unfortunately, I had to close the day before the big gala, which meant I would get home after midnight only to get up seven hours later so I could drive five hours to southern Wisconsin. It wasn’t exactly one of my better ideas, but I didn’t have many options.
Now I’m sure you might be wondering why Anna doesn’t drive and it is a pretty simple answer, she doesn’t. You see we have this rule (Well, it’s her rule which means it is my rule) that she drives when we go visit her family, and I drive when we visit mine. This leads to some disparity in the hours logged behind the wheel for a few reasons. First, her family only lives two hours away in Brainerd, MN. None of my relatives are any closer then five hours away. Second, she doesn’t drive during inclement weather be it rain, sleet or the evening.
Perhaps you might have caught as to how these rules might limit the potential to fairly allocate our drive time. You would have caught this because I informed you about the issue beforehand. Basically, unless it is a sunny day while we are driving to Brainerd, Anna isn’t driving. It doesn’t matter if I only got a few hours of sleep or if I have had an appendage lopped off, the driving is all on me.
So sure enough when we discussed our plans of driving down to Wisconsin on Saturday morning after I had closed the night before, only to turn around on Sunday and drive back, it was I who was assigned to drive. Oh sure, there was a rather vague promise to drive part of the way back, but the first 300 miles on six hours of sleep was all mine.
For those of you that care the roast went well. A keg was drank, a pig consumed and a Christmas tree torched. Pretty standard really. Evidently the entire event was concocted by my elder sister as a “Bachelor Bash”, essentially the male equivalent of a bridal shower. So really it was yet another way for them to get presents. Heck, if I had known marriage was such a gift giving scam I would have been married three or four times by now at the very least.
Then, of course, as we prepared to pack up and head for home a mere 24 hours after arriving I was informed that I would once again be driving. Of course she promised that she would drive once we hit the freeway, but in one of the most galling displays of gender collusion on record as we hit the freeway the heavens opened up and Mother Nature literally pissed all over my plans. With those first drops of emasculation it was hard not to relate to Benito González (Javier Bardem) in Golden Balls. Now sure he wanted to have sex with everything that moved and erect a phallic skyscraper as a monument to his sexual and business acumen but women never seemed to let his glorious plans come to fruition either.
Golden Balls is a film that doesn’t take to long to make it plainly obvious why it never garnered a theatrical release here in the United States. Even today it is barely known in spite of its rather star studded cast (Bardem, Benecio del Toro, Maria de Medeiros, Maribel Verdú). You see Golden Balls is a film about sex. Specifically, how one man wants to prove his manliness and virility by sexually dominating women, men and building a glorified monument to his sexual organs.
In a less Puritanical society such a storyline might play well, and in the UK Golden Balls has had some limited success, but here in the US a film dealing with sex in such a frank manner is culturally taboo. In addition, the image of the lothario in the US is far more of a tragically comic persona then something one would aspire to be. As debonair as Hugh Hefner and the Leisure Suit Larry’s of the world think they are, really we are mocking their silly aspirations.
So here we have Golden Balls, a film treating sexual conquest in a far from silly manner, but with a setup that will almost immediately cause people to chuckle. These women are not people, they are emotional scaffolding in which our anti-hero attempts to support his self-esteem and standing in society. This clash of delivery is but the first of many mis-steps by director Bigas Luna (Jamón, jamón).
Another odd artistic choice is in the sex scenes, both the sheer volume of them and the manner in which they are depicted. From farcical to domineering to downright weird, Luna continually depicts sex as anything but erotic. The closest it ever comes to skirting sensuality is during a threesome between Benito, Marta (Maria de Medeiros) and Claudia (Maribel Verdú) in which Benito hopes to prove his manhood in the ultimate sexual act but is ultimately excluded entirely from the encounter. What is meant to be a scene depicting two people who unconditionally love each while another is forced to confront his greatest fear comes across as more of a cheap sight gag. This scene is but the strongest example of the realization that you know what Luna is attempting to create yet continually fails to execute with any competence.
Not content with merely attempting to direct the plot primarily through sex scenes, Golden Balls also makes sure that each scene is bubbling over with sexual innuendo. From simple arm wrestling to assert male dominance, to quizzically placed penis shaped ring holders to even outright fellatio on a sausage Golden Balls is a film that tirelessly ties every object to Benito’s sexual and social vigor.
Perhaps if this was done subtly it might have added some visual intrigue as well as the occasional punchline ( a woman aggressively slicing her dinner in two, or a mobster driving over a cigar after backing out of a business deal are two of my favorite moments) yet by the fourth or fifth time Benito grabs his package and proclaims he wants to erect a skyscraper in honor of his Little General it gets to be a bit much. Yes Benito, we get it, your proboscis is glorious. But waving it about like a fire hose isn’t going to win over many viewers.
In a surprising twist even when Golden Balls excels it still misses its mark. In the hands of a lessor actor Benito would be a comical role and the audience would be surprised by his rise to fame, yet revel in every bump he hits during his inevitable descent. But Javier Bardem is not a lessor actor, thus he turns what should be a rather one note character into a compel man fueled by his societal belief that men true men should dominate in every facet of life. This belief is not only directly responsible for his success but for his failures.
Benito is a man who believes machismo will win him the love of his life, but when he loses her to another his obsession with such things will cause him to miss identify what love and success truly is. This in turn leads him to being a physical and emotional shell of a man when all is said and done. It is in these final moments of failure that the film begins to be more then a superficial spin-off on The Fountainhead and finally shows an understanding of the values and beliefs presented in the novel. But on the surface what appears to be presented as a comedy is limited due to the superb performance by Bardem. You should be reveling in the destruction of an outdated and offensive mindset, but instead you almost feel sorry for his ineptitude. Almost.
This isn’t to say there are not any successful moments in Golden Balls. The use of the colors red and blue are particularly impressive as Luna bathes entire rooms, wardrobes and other objects with both to act as a visual cue to the audience of hos each object is perceived by Benito. Red signifies his primal urges and desires that are dictated by his uncompromising belief of the superiority of an openly virile male. Rich and powerful men drive fast cars and sleep with beautiful women, it is as simple as that. Blue represents the things that provide him an emotional anchor and balance to his life. These things may not outwardly appeal to people at first, but they offer Benito the opportunity of truly finding love, happiness and redemption.
But when it comes down to it Golden Balls is a convoluted mess of insight and ideas that are tragically executed to imperfection. It is filled with interesting visuals and a gutsy narrative style, only it never finds a proper balance that will allow people to gain both insight and enjoyment from the film. Golden Balls certainly aims to elevate a low brow ideal, but unfortunately suffers from shrinkage when it matters most.
