Bueno.”Īlmodóvar, who was a bold showman when he was younger, now carries himself in public at once tentatively and grandly. A woman in her sixties praised “Julieta,” his melancholy new film, which is about a mother whose teen-age daughter abandons her. A woman in her twenties asked if she could take a photograph with Almodóvar. The Cine Renoir, despite its elegant name, is a small space on the ground floor of an unappealing building-a bomb shelter that shows films. Stout and pale, he stands out among the Madrileños, with wide dark glasses-he suffers from light sensitivity-and a tuft of white hair that a bird appears to have woven on the top of his head. Spain is passionate about its movies, and Almodóvar, who just turned sixty-seven, is the country’s most famous director since Luis Buñuel. As Almodóvar walked toward the theatre, carrying a Prada bag that held a bottle of water, locals recognized him.
One day in September, his driver dropped him off near the Cine Renoir, which was showing “Neruda,” a film about the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda directed by Pablo Larraín. If a studio sends him a screener on DVD and he likes the movie, he will watch it a second time in a cinema.
He lives off a park on the western side of Madrid, and the art houses are clumped together near Plaza de España, not far away. Many famous directors retreat to the privacy of their own screening rooms, but Pedro Almodóvar still likes to see movies in theatres.
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