Pepa just shakes her head. She turns to Iván. “Go to Stockholm,” she says. “Or hell. I don’t care anymore.” Back at the apartment, the women wake up. It’s dawn. The gazpacho has worn off. Candela, groggy but clear-eyed, finally sees the absurdity of her situation. She calls the police, reports the van, and breaks up with the terrorist via a note on a napkin. Marisa steals a cigarette and declares she’s going to become a flamenco dancer. Ángela, for the first time, admits she doesn’t actually love Carlos—she just loves the idea of a wedding.
Pepa smiles. “Only if it’s a comedy.” women on the verge of a nervous breakdown movie
“What now?” he asks.
Lucía’s mission: to kill Iván. Why? Because he left her for Pepa. Now he’s left Pepa for someone else. Lucía sees the pattern and has a solution: violence. She also reveals she’s been sleeping in Pepa’s stairwell for two days, waiting. Pepa just shakes her head
She slaps him. He doesn’t flinch.
The women walk out of the apartment, into the bright Madrid morning. The camera lingers on the broken answering machine, its wires exposed, silent at last. A taxi honks. A moped whizzes by. Life, loud and messy and completely unscripted, goes on. “Or hell
Then comes (20s), Candela’s naive, sweet-natured friend. She’s tagging along for moral support but is mostly interested in Pepa’s collection of vintage horror movie posters.
Pepa just shakes her head. She turns to Iván. “Go to Stockholm,” she says. “Or hell. I don’t care anymore.” Back at the apartment, the women wake up. It’s dawn. The gazpacho has worn off. Candela, groggy but clear-eyed, finally sees the absurdity of her situation. She calls the police, reports the van, and breaks up with the terrorist via a note on a napkin. Marisa steals a cigarette and declares she’s going to become a flamenco dancer. Ángela, for the first time, admits she doesn’t actually love Carlos—she just loves the idea of a wedding.
Pepa smiles. “Only if it’s a comedy.”
“What now?” he asks.
Lucía’s mission: to kill Iván. Why? Because he left her for Pepa. Now he’s left Pepa for someone else. Lucía sees the pattern and has a solution: violence. She also reveals she’s been sleeping in Pepa’s stairwell for two days, waiting.
She slaps him. He doesn’t flinch.
The women walk out of the apartment, into the bright Madrid morning. The camera lingers on the broken answering machine, its wires exposed, silent at last. A taxi honks. A moped whizzes by. Life, loud and messy and completely unscripted, goes on.
Then comes (20s), Candela’s naive, sweet-natured friend. She’s tagging along for moral support but is mostly interested in Pepa’s collection of vintage horror movie posters.