When we think of queer film auteurs, perhaps only a handful of directors come to mind. In North America, we have Lisa Cholodenko, John Waters, the Wachowski siblings, and Alejandro Iñárritu. In Europe, there exists Pedro Almodóvar, François Ozon, and Ferzan Özpetek. What binds these directors together is their tendency to stray outside of heteronormativity, and their aversion to heterosexism. In the case of Almodóvar and Ozon, both directors have established themselves as film auteurs, and together they have amassed dozens of films. In many of these films, there is the presence of LGBTQIA characters and themes, as well as queer romance and sex. Both directors seem to have no fear of gender fluidity and sexual liquidity, even incorporating fluid cuts and crosscuts, flowing water, and musical blends to emphasize the fluidity. Despite the presence of LGBTQIA characters in these films, there is a dearth of bisexual representation. This could be the result of bi-invisibility. Bisexuality is often erased, sometimes accidentally, when a bisexual person is seen to be romantically involved with someone, and then assumed to be either gay or straight based on the gender of that someone. This would argue that the issue isn’t that there is a lack of bisexual representation, but rather a lack of obvious representation, or even a lack of labels or concrete identifying terminology. This could stem from the fact that Almodóvar hails from Spain and Ozon is from France, two countries that handle their identity politics differently than Hollywood, U.S.A.

Almodóvar has not shied away from including many queer characters and themes in his films, starting in the 1980’s, inspiring others to do the same. Pastor argues “that a ‘gender subversion’ or ‘sexual alterity’ is a prerequisite for many of the characters that appear in the wide spectrum of Almodóvar’s films” (8). In a handy guide to queer Hispanic roles in film over the last few decades, Velasquez writes for The Advocate, “Spain’s Pedro Almodóvar remains the pioneer and prince among filmmakers bringing gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered Hispanic characters to the silver screen” (44). In his three films, Law of Desire, Bad Education, and Pain and Glory, Almodóvar actively subverts the “orthodox heterocentrism of Spanish tradition”, a tradition that “judges and discriminates against individuals depending on their sex, gender and sexuality” (Pastor 16). His international success delivers these characters to audiences around the world. Almodóvar’s critical and commercial successes have inspired other directors and creators, which is why representation in his films is even more crucial.

Law of Desire surrounds film director Pablo, his relationship with his sister, and what turns out to be a fatal love affair. In The Advocate guide to queer Hispanic roles, Velasquez includes Law of Desire, and lists it under “G, T, B”, which means the film includes a gay character, a transgender character, and a bisexual character. As an audience member, as well as a scholar watching the film with discerning eyes, I am wondering to whom the marker “bisexual” applies in this film. Presumably it is in reference to Pablo’s boyfriend, Juan, who admits to loving Pablo, but is romantically linked to women. Tina is the most subversive of all the characters in the film, and perhaps the most difficult to pin down. Not only is she “committing an outrage against her own masculine/biological identity by changing her sex”, she is also “questioning her own heterosexuality by revealing her bisexuality”, which does not work in the confines of patriarchy (Pastor 10). Tina is multi-layered, vibrant, funny, and electric…but is she bi? Is she part of the binary? “Therefore, in Almodóvar’s films a questioning of fixed sexual and gender identities is revealed as well as a forceful proposal for a fluid and flexible construction and expression of sexuality and gender” (Pastor 8). It appears to be a conscious choice on Almodóvar’s part to avoid the label, to leave it open to interpretation. If Pablo’s lover Juan and Pablo’s sister Tina are considered to be bisexual, it is worth noting that Tina was abused as a child and Juan is ultimately murdered. When representation centers around or culminates in violence, this could fall into the “bury your gays” trope. The bury your gays trope sends a message to everyone, but especially to those that are struggling with their own identities, that it is possible to find happiness, but that it will be short-lived and will “perhaps require a bulletproof vest” (Waggoner 1879). Juan and Tina could be falling under this trope, which would be considered problematic by many fans. Pastor notes that in Law of Desire, there is explicit and multi-layered “representation of these ‘inverted’ characters and their deviant relationships”, which makes the “theme of homosexuality visible for the first time in Spanish cinema” (16). In traditional Spanish cinema, the ‘deviant’, or homosexual, or bisexual, or transgender person, would be marginalized and excluded from the “norm in culture, and, therefore, excluded from classical film narrative” (Pastor 16). For 1987, the film was ahead of its time in representation.

In Almodóvar’s film Bad Education, a film noir, we encounter a film within a film and characters that evolve and morph, as viewers find themselves unsure of what is the real truth. Shuttling between “metropolitan glamour, provincial squalor, and rural repression” (Smith 182), the film follows Juan, an actor who is not afraid of deception, and Enrique, a successful filmmaker who is willing to be deceived. Almodóvar is considered by most to be a “women’s director”, as he doesn’t “create from the traditional male perspective, but from a peculiar feminine gendered perspective” and he has managed to create a “counter gaze to the traditional male gaze” (Pastor 2). Bad Education has very few female characters, and the femme fatale is recreated by Almodóvar in Gael García Bernal, who plays Juan (Pastor 2). The invisibility of queerness in everyday society explains the re-gendering that occurs within the film, allowing Juan to seamlessly slip into the role of femme fatale. As in other noir films with the signature archetype, Juan is repressed and looking for a way out. He “does not have sex for the pleasure, but in order to achieve his goals through the men he sleeps with: Enrique can offer him a role in the film; Berenguer can give him money and even ‘freedom’ from his brother” (Pastor 5). García Bernal’s character engages in gay sex with both Enrique and Berenguer, yet emphatically denies being homosexual. Does this make him bisexual? He certainly does not use the term, and he even uses derogatory terminology when he denies being gay or transgendered, and acts disgusted by Enrique’s advances. Berenguer is married to a woman, but has a graphic affair with Juan, a young man more than half his age. Does this make Berenguer bisexual? If either of these characters are bisexual, and there is no way to know for sure, then they are certainly not going to be listed in the “positive representation” column of queer representation in film. One is a pedophile and the other murdered his brother, and neither will be marching in Pride parades. Enrique, solid in his own sexuality, never appears as anything other than gay, and is much less fluid in his identity. This marks Almodóvar’s second film that could be considered problematic when tallying bisexual representation.

In Pain and Glory, Almodóvar’s semi-autobiographical film about an aging film director who struggles after the death of his mother, the audience is once again surprised by a film within a film. This twist is cleverly employed, and the setting and lighting add to the emotional value of these scenes. Salvador, played by Antonio Banderas wearing Almodóvar’s real clothes, is at a point in his life where memories wash over him, causing him to review his life’s choices. We never see Salvador with a woman, and only hear about his past loves and relationships with men, so the audience can assume he is gay. Federico, a former partner and creative conspirator, returns to Salvador after decades apart. We learn that Federico has never been with another man, and that he was married to a woman with whom he had children. He offers to stay the night with Salvador, but is turned away, though Federico implores Salvador to come to Argentina to meet his family. Though the word “bisexual” is never used, it can be assumed that Federico is bi, given his relationships with both men and women. Because Federico is only in the film for a short period of time, the audience is not granted much information on his happiness or stability, though there is a reference to his former heroin use. The bisexual representation in Pain and Glory is minimal, and neither particularly positive nor negative.

Law of Desire, Bad Education, and Pain and Glory are three films spanning decades in Almodóvar’s successful and multitudinous career. In this trilogy of queer films, there are a smattering of LGBTQIA characters, including those that could be identified as bisexual. These characters never self identify as bi, at least not in a vocal and obvious way, but this could be due to Almodóvar’s own relationship with identity politics, as well as identity politics in his home country of Spain. In one of the films, the bisexual representation does not tilt one way or the other. In two of the films, the bi community could argue that the representation is problematic, due to the violence surrounding the characters. These three films were critically well received and internationally successful, with a wide range of audience members.