I came across this Spanish-Argentine movie collaboration accidentally while remote-clicking through HBO late one night. With its catchy title, translated into English as The Whore and the Whale, initially I did not know what to expect. Although I missed the first half hour, I became fascinated first by the magnificent cinematography and then, as I got used to the sub-titles, by the symbolic pathos of the storyline. Fortunately I was able to catch the movie from the beginning a few days later, and I can say the second time around the story is just as captivating, and a devastating ending you do not see coming. Director Luis Puenzo does a masterful job taking us into a feminine universe that men rarely see.

The story interweaves two parallel stories and time periods, present day and 1934 Patagonia. Vera (played by Aitana Sánchez-Gijón in a knockout performance) a popular novelist, discovers an old coffer containing photos and personal papers belonging to an Argentine man, Emilio, who died during the Spanish Civil War. Many of the photos are of a woman, Lola, who is also the person to whom many of the passionate, apologetic letters are addressed, but never mailed.

As her curiosity grows about these star-crossed lovers from the past, Vera is diagnosed with breast cancer and undergoes a mastectomy. While recovering in the hospital, by chance her elderly roommate turns out to be Matilde, one of the women in the dead soldier’s group photographs. She inspires Vera to fly to Patagonia to discover the truth.

Through flashbacks, we see the young Emilio (Leonardo Sbaraglia) as an ambitious photographer who meets and falls in love with a Buenos Aires showgirl, Lola (Merçè Llorens). They fly to a remove village in Patagonia and meet a menagerie of interesting characters in the local dance hall there. The women in the local brothel fascinate Lola, and Emilio, suffering from commitment-panic, decides to sell her to the owner of the establishment. He then leaves her to her fate.

Lola is shocked and angry, and she begins to identify with a beached whale on a nearby beach, trapped by the low tide and unable to escape back to the open sea. A year later, Emilio returns with a change of heart and attempts to buy her back.

Meanwhile in present day, we watch Vera identify more and more with Lola’s sense of entrapment, because she learns her cancer has now spread and she needs to start chemotherapy. She delays her treatment so she can visit the old Patagonian brothel and interview the locals who still remember Emilio and Lola. We see her projecting herself into the past, mentally – and eventually physically – interacting with the lovers and the trapped whale. I think for many filmgoers, the heart-stopping ending will etch itself into your memories and provide the basis for lots of conversation after the final credits and the haunting tango theme has rolled by.

The use of both male and female frontal nudity throughout the film is not exploitive at all, but realistic considering the brothel and dance hall setting. In fact the most sexual moments in the movie are the tango in the dance hall. One of the major themes underlying the journey taken by Vera’s character is her coming to terms with the loss of her breast. At the end of the film, her standing full frontal in front of her lover for the first time is an act of personal courage that represents acceptance of her body as it is.

I have read some reviews of the film that state the subtitles cannot do justice to the actual dialog, particularly the character’s use of Argentine slang and brothel expressions.

“This is a film that has to do more with dreams and poetry than with rational thought,” Puenzo stated in an interview when the film was released. "La Puta y la Ballena is poetic, sensitive, dreamy and metaphysical.”

The film won three Argentinean Film Critics Association Awards out of seven nominations, including the 2005 Silver Condor (second place, “Best Film), Best Art Direction, and Best Cinematography.

Meanwhile, watch your local cable listings. If you see the film listed, don’t miss it.