AN AIRLINER circles above central Spain. Technical problems have left the plane doomed, destined for a crash-landing. Frantic with nerves, passengers and crew-members descend into an orgy of alcohol, drugs and sex. Thus Pedro Almodóvar, the prince of modern Spanish cinema, allegorises the state of his country in his latest film, “Los amantes pasajeros” (released as “I'm So Excited” in the English-speaking world).



Reviewers have lingered on the not-so-subtle allusions to the country's calamitous economy. The film includes scenes in one of Spain’s empty white-elephant airports, built during the pre-crisis boom years. “We have a few little problems,” a flight attendant tells a concerned passenger: “Very serious ones, to be honest: we're drinking to forget.”



The plane serves as a microcosm of Spaniards' current plight, but also as a time capsule. At every turn “Los amantes pasajeros” evokes the Movida Madrileña: the post-Franco explosion of colour, culture and hedonism in 1980s Madrid. The décor of the cabin-turned-fleshpot is lurid. Hair-flicking flight attendants serve passengers mescaline-laced glasses of “agua de Valencia”, the favourite cocktail of the 1980s clubbing crowd. Inhibitions dissolve. (Not coincidentally, the film also recalls the arch, risqué films of Mr Almodóvar’s early career; particularly “Laberinto de pasiones” from 1982, two of whose stars—Cecilia Roth and Antonio Banderas—make appearances.)



For all the film's raucousness, there is some nostalgia here. The 1980s inaugurated a feverish, optimistic, 30-year spell in Spain. Led by the centre-left Socialists, the country emerged from the grey years of dictatorship to become (by some measures) one of the most liberal countries in Europe. The last Socialist government, from 2004 to 2011, saw Spain legalise gay marriage, liberalise abortion and regularise immigrants. Gleaming new bridges, trains, airports and housing developments became infrastructural symbols of the country’s race towards the future. Yet this neophilia also precipitated the current malaise by nearly bankrupting regional governments and inflating a massive, unsustainable construction bubble.



Like the “agua de Valencia”-swilling passengers on Mr Almodóvar's plane, Spain has woken up with a crashing hangover. The economic crisis has swept the socio-political debates from the agenda. Young people are in the streets, “indignados” (furious) at a youth unemployment rate of 55%. Support for both the Socialists and the ruling centre-right Popular Party has tumbled since the 2011 election. Two different parties, both detached from the policies of the past 30 years, have filled the gap: Izquierda Unida, a traditional hard-left party, and the Union, Progress and Democracy party, a sober, centrist outfit with no ideological baggage from the post-Franco transition (it was founded in 2007). Mr Almódovar has renounced his long-time support for the Socialists (both he and Mr Banderas once fronted the party’s adverts).



In “Los amantes pasajeros”, as in real life, the Spain of the past 30 years falls to earth. Indeed, the original Spanish title contains wordplay lost in the English version: it refers both to the plane's passengers (pasajeros) and to the fleeting (pasajeros) nature of their flings. The country is changing, Mr Almodóvar is saying in this riotous, bittersweet goodbye to the post-Franco pre-crisis era. Dull debates about debt, jobs and wages are replacing the vibrant identity politics that emerged from the Movida. The party is over, in more ways than one.