 Una pelicola en tres minutos Okay, so your name is Pepper Marcos, you're a successful voice actor, and you've also been in a relationship with your colleague Ivan. But sadly for you, this sweet talking lover has abruptly left, possibly for another woman. And to make matters worse, your paranoid friend is on the run from the police after dating a terrorist, and worse still, the son of your lover is looking to buy your apartment that you've just partially burnt down. And even worse than that, that son's mother Lucia, Ivan's previous lover, has just been released from the psychiatric hospital, and let's just say she's none too happy about you stealing, albeit briefly, her ex's heart. Sounds like you, your friend, and your scorned nemesis are women on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Pedro Almodovar's 1988 feminist black comedy which brought him to international prominence and acts as the perfect example of his campy, gaudy, often times bizarre, yet utterly endearing representation of humanity which the director's body of work has become famous for, featuring a stellar cast, vibrant art direction, and a touching story about female liberation that never gets lost in all of the plot's absurd hijinks. Taking inspiration from screwball comedies of the 1930s as well as 1953's How to Marry a Millionaire, the world of mojeres al bode de onetaca de nervios, revolves almost entirely around a single location, Pepper's apartment, designed with a deliberately artificial look and feel to make the protagonist's home appear more like the backdrop of a play. As such, much of the comedy is derived from the story's colourful roster of characters visiting the apartment as if walking on to a theatre stage, and always at the most awkward of intervals. Taking Pepper to madly dart back and forth when dealing with increasingly preposterous situations, all whilst holding her nerve as her world edges closer to the point of collapse. This eccentric blending of dissimilar genres, tones and styles that are practically Almodovar's trademark could easily have ended up becoming a complete nonsensical mess, but instead is held together beautifully by the steadfast, energetic performance of Carmen Mora's A character whose attack of the nerves over her fear of losing Ivan no more defines her than do her pet chickens, but instead is used merely as a catalyst for the discovery of freedom and control she achieves by the story's climax. A gorgeous, life-affirming message about loss, acceptance and the spectacle of life directed with flair by Spain's most successful cinematic son. That should hopefully remind you that if you suffer your own nervous breakdown, it could be a lot worse. You could have kidnapped a motorcyclist at gunpoint in order to track down your former lover and shoot him in an airport terminal. Now that is a breakdown.