Volver, the latest film of Spanish auteur Pedro Almodóvar, is not an easy work to sum up in any meaningful way. On the surface it’s the story of three generations of women – a mother (Abuela), her two daughters (Raimunda and Sole), and her granddaughter (Paula), Raimunda’s daughter. Abuela, believed dead at the start of the film, comes back into the lives of her offspring and in so doing uncovers secrets from the past, including the question of why she apparently faked her own death.

But around this central theme are entwined other stories, as well as a wealth of character detail, to such an extent that for the first hour or so it’s difficult to tell where the film is going or if it’s going anywhere at all.

Much of the attention is on Raimunda, (Penélope Cruz), whose marriage comes to an abrupt end that forces her to rebuild her life amidst drastic circumstances. Cruz gives a majestic and totally convincing performance, and her story is absorbing, but Almodóvar’s camera follows her around like a love-sick puppy and at first the focus on Raimunda seems to unbalance the film. Other characters, notably her sister and daughter, whilst portrayed almost equally well, aren’t fleshed out to the same extent. The movie seems aimless, unsure whether to be comedy, thriller, family drama, perhaps even ghost story.

Then, at about the mid-way point things start to come together, until an ending that’s both satisfying and quietly devastating. The slow build of the earlier scenes pays off, and the themes that Almodóvar has been developing become clear, as do the multiple meanings of the title (which literally translates as “return”.) It would be pointless to try and pin Volver down to a single meaning, but amongst other things it’s a film about how the past infringes on the present, about how mistakes and crimes repeat through the generations.

Almodóvar portrays a world where men are almost invisible, present seemingly only to commit awful crimes and be punished for them; and women are vital, stoic but curiously loveless beings. As much as there is constant humour there is also a relentless undercurrent of sadness, and tragedy is inescapable; as much as these women find strength in community, they are essentially alone and incapable of offering each other much beyond purely practical aid and limited comfort.

In short, Volver – as much as it’s funny and frequently entertaining – isn’t a happy film; but the ending, though it suggests that certain mistakes will always be repeated, also offers the possibility of hope. It’s also a work that requires a certain amount of patience and even tolerance through its first half – it could have been leaner, more focused, though perhaps at the risk of deadening the impact of the conclusion. But though Volver falls just shy of being a masterpiece, it’s exceptionally strong, a superbly acted meditation on difficult themes and one of this year’s better films.