In the end, Women on the Verge is a celebration of survival. It tells every woman who has ever felt abandoned, betrayed, or utterly exhausted that she is not alone. She is just on the verge. And the view from the edge, in Almodóvar’s hands, is absolutely glorious.
The dialogue, sharp as a tack, flies at the pace of a 1940s screwball comedy (think Howard Hawks by way of Pedro’s warped genius). Characters make frantic phone calls, lie with ease, and deliver deadpan one-liners amidst absolute chaos. And at the center of it all is the music—a haunting, melancholic title track performed by Lola Beltrán that becomes the film’s emotional heartbeat. While the film is hilarious, its title is no joke. “Nervous breakdowns” were the silent epidemic of 1980s Spain. For decades under Franco’s dictatorship, women were legally subjugated to their fathers and husbands. They couldn’t open a bank account, travel, or work without male permission. The moment democracy arrived, a generation of women was left to process a lifetime of repressed identity. women on the verge of a nervous breakdown (1988)
It also gave cinema its greatest warning: In the end, Women on the Verge is a celebration of survival