Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
Suppose you find yourself in a penthouse apartment in Madrid one day, replete with broken windows, burnt mattresses, and meandering fowl; don't sneak a swig of the gazpacho. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is a black comedy written and directed by Pedro Almodóvar about an actress named Pepa Marcos (Carmen Maura) who has come to the end of a romance with the philandering Iván (Fernando Guillén). And her spiral into chaos brings everyone else along for the ride.
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Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown was a breakthrough film for both Almodóvar and Spanish cinema, although it is ironic that it is similar to some of Hollywood's "screwball" farces of yesteryear, like My Man Godfrey and many more. It is also evident how much of a cinephile Almodóvar is, not just by way of the zany tone of American films like these, but also how Pepa and Iván themselves are versatile actors working in cinema. They dub over assorted films, like Johnny Guitar, and Pepa adds her own heartache into her dubbing of Joan Crawford, to the point that she tears up and faints on set. Many describe Almodóvar's films as "melodrama", but I think that the exaggerated emotions are just a part of the particular palette that this artist uses to present his interpretation of the world, including the gaudy fashion and sentimental music occasionally played for laughs. There is a ubiquitous cynical element to Carmen Maura's performance (a constant in her works with Almodóvar, like What Have I Done to Deserve This?) Pepa is a character caught in a tumult of insanity, and her actions are almost never to diffuse this madness; intentional or otherwise, she seems to provoke even more chaos with every scene. Yet Pepa is a sympathetic character, dejected after the quiet death of her romance with Iván. He is clearly avoiding her, and yet she waits by the phone, agonizing over his call, taking far more sleeping pills than what is healthy. Her emotional state is a mess, and her actions don't even seem like her own. Whether she intends to kill herself over a batch of gazpacho that she makes--heavily laced with barbiturates--is open to interpretation, but she seems to have no logical basis for actions like this, like carelessly setting fire to her bed, not even realizing it until the room is nearly engulfed in flames. Pepa is certainly doing well as an actress, though. Her apartment is spacious and furnished with lovely decor; but none of this matters to a woman who is suffering from the pangs of a broken heart. She falls into fits of despair, throwing all manner of assorted junk into Iván's suitcase, expecting him to show up anytime and reclaim it. Meanwhile, she spies on the apartment of Iván's wife, Lucia (Julieta Serrano), expecting that their shared man will return there, leaving the two women convinced that he is still with the other. And owing to a fleeting desire to sublet her apartment, Lucia's stuttering son, Carlos (Antonio Banderas), and his virgin fiancée, Marisa (Rossy de Palma), show up to rent the place, only to cross paths with another friend of Pepa's, Candela (María Barranco), a naive model who is in a state of panic after discovering that her lover is a Shiite terrorist. Emotions run hot in Pepa's penthouse as she tries to reunite with the elusive Iván, and each scene becomes a growing testament to the insanity that reigns supreme in Almodóvar's Madrid.
Almodóvar's films almost invariably have a vivid visual aesthetic, and Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is no exception. Watching the film is a constant explosion of color and design--never mind that it has a certain fabricated look to it, because that's missing the point. This film is like a caricature of life, accenting key elements to give the audience a more concentrated look at romance and the absurdity that sometimes goes along with it. Take Carlos and Marisa for example. They don't seem like a terribly well-suited couple with her bossing him around and him just feebly doing as he's told. He's also a bit of a mamma's boy, and this comes to the forefront in a nigh-Oedipal interaction with Pepa that has the faintest suggestion that she's ready to seduce him just to get back at Iván. (Ironically, he falls for the near suicidal Candela instead, and reveals himself to be his father's son with how quickly he is ready to change partners.) Pepa's long day is much like a drug-induced dream with all of the craziness that follows from moment to moment. When she flags down a cab to follow Lucia--her rival for Iván--the taxi is decked out in all manner of kitsch and accoutrements, driven by a mambo enthusiast with a bleached blonde pompadour (Guillermo Montesinos); and he manages to be the same cabbie who picks her up on two subsequent occasions at that, ultimately with eyedrops at the ready! Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown feels a lot like it was designed for the stage, not least of which is due to the importance of Pepa's apartment as a set for all of these assorted characters colliding with one another, alongside the exaggerated fashion to boot. But the story itself also feels like it was designed to be something of a satire of all of the myriad over-the-top dramas and comedies out there. Consider a commercial that Pepa watches of herself on TV. She is in character as the mother of a serial killer, and she is praising the virtues of a laundry detergent to clean out the blood stains just before the police arrive. (And don't those two cops look an awful lot like the ones that show up later to follow up on an anonymous phone call Carlos made to try to thwart a repeat terrorist hijacking after Candela spills the beans to him?) Despite how much conversation takes place about Iván and how many characters throw their whole lives in disarray over this man, he has almost no screen time. Iván is more of a "MacGuffin" than a real character...something that exemplifies a kind of pervading madness which Pepa and the rest are experiencing. He's like a bad flu that they all just need to get over to go back to their lives. So in a weird way, when Marisa finally awakens at the end of the film and Pepa has a casual chat with her on her terrace, it is the sign that the nightmare of Iván--and men like him--is over for these women, and whatever hysterics came before are in the past. Life goes on, and the sun also rises on Madrid for women like Pepa and Marisa once more.
Recommended for: Fans of a wildly funny and truly hysterical madcap black comedy about the end of romance and the chaos of emotions in the redline. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is a great entry point for fans of auteur-driven cinema looking to discover the works of Pedro Almodóvar, as well as a just altogether funny and zany romp that will leave you in stitches.
Almodóvar's films almost invariably have a vivid visual aesthetic, and Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is no exception. Watching the film is a constant explosion of color and design--never mind that it has a certain fabricated look to it, because that's missing the point. This film is like a caricature of life, accenting key elements to give the audience a more concentrated look at romance and the absurdity that sometimes goes along with it. Take Carlos and Marisa for example. They don't seem like a terribly well-suited couple with her bossing him around and him just feebly doing as he's told. He's also a bit of a mamma's boy, and this comes to the forefront in a nigh-Oedipal interaction with Pepa that has the faintest suggestion that she's ready to seduce him just to get back at Iván. (Ironically, he falls for the near suicidal Candela instead, and reveals himself to be his father's son with how quickly he is ready to change partners.) Pepa's long day is much like a drug-induced dream with all of the craziness that follows from moment to moment. When she flags down a cab to follow Lucia--her rival for Iván--the taxi is decked out in all manner of kitsch and accoutrements, driven by a mambo enthusiast with a bleached blonde pompadour (Guillermo Montesinos); and he manages to be the same cabbie who picks her up on two subsequent occasions at that, ultimately with eyedrops at the ready! Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown feels a lot like it was designed for the stage, not least of which is due to the importance of Pepa's apartment as a set for all of these assorted characters colliding with one another, alongside the exaggerated fashion to boot. But the story itself also feels like it was designed to be something of a satire of all of the myriad over-the-top dramas and comedies out there. Consider a commercial that Pepa watches of herself on TV. She is in character as the mother of a serial killer, and she is praising the virtues of a laundry detergent to clean out the blood stains just before the police arrive. (And don't those two cops look an awful lot like the ones that show up later to follow up on an anonymous phone call Carlos made to try to thwart a repeat terrorist hijacking after Candela spills the beans to him?) Despite how much conversation takes place about Iván and how many characters throw their whole lives in disarray over this man, he has almost no screen time. Iván is more of a "MacGuffin" than a real character...something that exemplifies a kind of pervading madness which Pepa and the rest are experiencing. He's like a bad flu that they all just need to get over to go back to their lives. So in a weird way, when Marisa finally awakens at the end of the film and Pepa has a casual chat with her on her terrace, it is the sign that the nightmare of Iván--and men like him--is over for these women, and whatever hysterics came before are in the past. Life goes on, and the sun also rises on Madrid for women like Pepa and Marisa once more.
Recommended for: Fans of a wildly funny and truly hysterical madcap black comedy about the end of romance and the chaos of emotions in the redline. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is a great entry point for fans of auteur-driven cinema looking to discover the works of Pedro Almodóvar, as well as a just altogether funny and zany romp that will leave you in stitches.