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This is the first film that brought Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar on to the radar of a larger American audience, and it’s no surprise that it should – it represents the first big leap forward that he made in the style and quality of his films (he’d make more later, but this was the initial breakthrough). Almodóvar had been making feature films for over ten years by the time he released Women on the Verge and it’s a consolidation of everything he’d done over the decade – incorporating his love of bright, candy-colored scenes and costumes, of the genres of the screwball comedy and the melodrama (and the trash aesthetic of director John Waters) and the gleefully absurd plots that go with them, and of a strong female lead character who’s usually under romantic duress. While he’d used all these elements in his earlier films this was his most successful effort to date, harnessing the talented Carmen Maura (who appeared in many of Almodóvar’s earlier works) as our beleaguered heroine into a story about a voiceover artist who’s afraid that the married man she’s having an affair with is returning to his wife, who’s recently been released from a mental hospital and who suspects that there is yet another woman involved and… well, let me back up a second. I could go on to describe the plot at length, but the absurdity of Almodóvar’s plots, coupled with the fact that half the fun of his movies is watching how they unfold, prevents me from revealing too much. It’s absurd, sure, but think back to the great screwball comedies – implausibility is suspended
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-Patrick Brown
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