Pedro Almodóvar

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Live Flesh

Tonight was all about Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar: internationally-renowned writer, director, producer, gay icon, and purveyor of good movies. He was born 1949 in a small town of a province of Castile La-Mancha in Spain, and when he turned eight his parents sent him to boarding school in Cacares with the hopes that he’d become a priest. Eventually, the whole family moved out to Cacares and Pedro’s world expanded, not by way of the Bible, but by way of the cinema. Once he had access to movies, he knew that he wanted to pursue a career in film. In 1967, against the wishes of his parents, Almodóvar moved to Madrid to study at the National School of Cinema. But all of this was happening under the rule of Spanish dictator Francisco Franco, who closed the school—forcing Pedro to become a self-taught filmmaker. So many forces where standing in the way of Almodóvar becoming a filmmaker, and yet by the 1970s he was making short, experimental films and screening them in bars at night (while working for a telephone company during the day). By 1980, Pedro had garnered enough of a reputation to film his feature debut: Pepi, Luci, and Bom. He made 5 more films that each attracted wider and more curious audiences in Spain, and in 1988, Almodóvar created his first critical and commercial success: Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. When I saw my very first Almodóvar film last year, The Skin I Live In (still my favorite of his so far), the only other film of his I’d heard of was tonight’s first film. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown was a beautiful, bountiful buffet of befuddling bad luck that sold itself as bombastic but ended up being far more meaningful. This film follows Pepa (Carmen Maura), a woman who works in the entertainment industry alongside her lover Iván, who has been cheating on his wife for years. Pepa is so tortured by her love for Iván, and by his ambivalence toward her, that she spends two tortuous days just trying (and failing) to speak to him. Along this series of unfortunate events we meet Lucia [the increasingly angry wife of Iván and mother of a very young, hot Antonio Banderas], Candela [a friend of Pepa who, after falling for the wrong man, accidentally becomes involved in a terrorist plot], and Marisa [girlfriend of Antonio Banderas’ character who rather innocently gets swept up in this very chaotic episode]. Take a little What’s Up Doc?, add in a sprinkle of John Tucker Must Die, and top it all off with a color scheme that John Waters would die for, and you’ve got Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. From the moment this film begins you are overwhelmed with a vibrant and exciting aesthetic that I can only describe as cartoon chic. Its stunning aesthetic was clearly thought-out within every detail of every frame—from the gorgeous shots of Madrid and its architecture, its set design, costuming, makeup, and general color palette, it was like candy for your eyes to consume. The profound sense of fabulousness in this film isn’t just due to the divine fashion, but the way it’s carried by the women who wear it. Carmen Maura, Julieta Serrano, and Rossy de Palma all act their asses off in this film in a way that is so passionate and determined, a story that could be written off as a mere chick flick transforms into a complex dramadey that only somewhat asks you to suspend your disbelief. It is outrageous and over-the-top, but it is also bitingly feminist. The story is instantly engrossing, and its femme-centric lens is apparent and impeccable from the very start. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, in many ways, boils down to one man, but he’s hardly the focus of the film. Almodóvar often centers his stories around women, and has even said that they make more interesting subjects and more interesting characters. This rings true in all of his films that I’ve seen, at least, as each story he tells is either about women or men who are obsessed with women. And as a woman, I can dig it. It’s tough to find male filmmakers who can properly express a female POV, and who don’t just end up exploiting the female body for art’s sake. But Pedro Almodóvar seems to use his films as odes to and fables about women, in a way that is intriguing, thrilling, and expansive without being pretentious. No matter the tone or subject matter of his films Almodóvar provides a reliable sense of urgency and tension, which comes through in Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown—and off-camera as well apparently, as this experience was so stressful for Almodovar’s long-time collaborator Carmen Maura that she wouldn’t work with this director again for another 18 years. While the anxiety in Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is rather fun and low-stakes, Live Flesh had the regular kind of anxiety. Live Flesh (1997) was Almodóvar’s 10th film and the meeting-place of famously attractive couple Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz. Live Flesh opens in 1970s Spain, under the Franco regime, a time of social and political unrest. Penélope Cruz, a prostitute, is on her way to the hospital to give birth to her son Victor, but ends up having him on the bus. Suddenly, the boy is grown, troubled, and working at pizza place. He decides to steal a pizza for a prostitute he admires named Elena, but after she rejects him, a tussle with her and two policemen (Javier Bardem and José Sancho) leaves Javier a paraplegic and Victor in jail for six years. After Victor sees Javier is now with Elena, he decides to plot his revenge upon his release from prison. The rest of the film plays out like nearly every other Almodóvar film I’ve seen: with twists and turns and several unreliable narrators. One of my favorite aspects of Almodóvar’s films are the fact that his characters are so complicated and chaotic, the concept of a protagonist and antagonist can be thrown right off the ledge. Another staple of Almodóvar’s films are beautiful men, and beautiful people in general. And Pedro must’ve heard my disappointment with the lack of male nudity in last week’s film Crash, because Live Flesh really delivered on this. Live Flesh is dramatic, lustful, and yet, a rather tame film for Almodóvar. Javier Bardem and Liberto Rabal were so hot, regardless of the weird hair phases that their characters each go through, respectively. It was captivating and sexy and while easy to follow, never too easy to predict. Just when you think you’ve got a Pedro Almodóvar film figured out, he twists the knife into the narrative you were expecting and does something unique, disturbing, and memorable with each story. Almodóvar’s methods of storytelling are fascinating and unfettered. He can tell an incredibly fucked up story while engaging in whimsy and humor and a keen sense of style that somehow desensitizes you as you watch. After watching The Skin I Live In, and an episode of Drag Race España Season 2 where they had to dress as different Almodóvar ladies on the runway, I knew I had to explore this filmmaker further—and I’ve barely scratched the surface of his brilliant filmography. Gracias, dear reader, for tolerating another week of my rambly, film-obsessed musings. And don’t have a nervous breakdown, we’ll be back next week. 😘