Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Time Out

15-05-2025

If the leading lady of a daytime telenovela was to read too many pop-psychology books while downing a double Espresso Martini, you might get something close to Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. This musical comedy based on Pedro Almodóvar's 1988 cinema cult classic is given a neon-lit, red-curtained makeover at Sydney's Hayes Theatre. With precision taking a backseat to passion, director Alexander Berlage (Cry-Baby, American Psycho) delivers a stylish descent into screwball mania.
The action takes place in Madrid, Spain, where Amy Hack 's (Yentl) heartbroken actress, Pepa, is having a terrible, very bad day, which we see play out from depressive start to high-flung resolution. Her lover Iván breaks up with her over answering machine, and thus, her Odyssey-styled mission to find and confront him begins. Along the journey, Pepa butts heads with Iván's scorned ex-wife Lucia (Tisha Keleman), his son and his own frustrated fiancée, as well as her wildly unravelling best friend, Candela (Grace Driscoll).
With a book by Jeffrey Lane (known for his musical adaption of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels) and music and lyrics by David Yazbek (Dead Outlaw), the original Broadway production of Women on the Verge had a relatively short lifespan – closing soon after it received poor reviews, and even poorer ticket sales. This is where Berlage's adept hand at re-inventing cult flops takes charge – finding a space for his avant-garde style through sharp angles, frenetic choreography, and psychosexual vignettes. His style is well matched by Phoebe Pilcher 's discordantly placed, evocative and frenzied lighting design, which effectively fills the space with the heat of the Spanish sun.
Alexander Berlage (Cry-Baby, American Psycho) delivers a stylish descent into screwball mania
Berlage has a reputation for breathing new life into former musical flops, and likewise, this production aims to move the material beyond a generic film-to-stage adaptation and lean into a clever, subversive vision. Women on the Verge skewers the most Shakespearean of plot points – love – and of course, the root cause of everyone's problems – men. (And underneath that is Greta Gerwig's favourite nemesis: the patriarchy.) The men in the piece may seem as vapid as those in the Barbie movie, but the bite of the women is more akin to Fleabag – dishevelled as they may appear, you don't want to cross them on a bad day.
Hack demonstrates the utmost commitment to her characterisation of Pepa, with subtle nuances in her emotional state giving way to strident outbursts – she is quite literally the picture of a woman on the verge. Her accent is held firm through both dialogue and song, while her flinging and flailing of bags, sunglasses and telephones is a superb lesson in choreographed chaos.
Driscoll's lust-lorn model, Candela, holds elastic characterisation and physicality, taking outlandish shapes and forms that are at times absurdly hilarious. Her patter song, 'Model Behaviour', reads like both an ode and challenge to the late great Stephen Sondheim himself.
Meanwhile, Keleman's overlooked and vengeful wife Lucia is a woman who now seeks to get back the years lost to an untrustworthy man. As her son, Carlos, Tomas Kantor is our most grounded male character, still led by his base instincts, yes, but at least he has a good heart through which the blood is pumped. Playing opposite as his fiance, Nina Carcione 's doe-eyed stare cuts through the space, drawing attention to her excellent knack for non-verbal comedic timing.
Chiara Assetta 's choreography is tasked with the olympic-sized hurdle of navigating around the congested set, and meets the challenge. The use of streamers instead of solid walls allows hands, faces, and limbs to appear and disappear with ease, while a large bed for one red-hot set piece blocks out a great portion of the space. It's swiftly executed choreography that has our characters dancing around, over and throughout the sharp angles of Hailley Hunt 's set design, which quite aptly reflects the slowly decaying psychosexual tensions of the show's characters.
The production's take on Spanish characteristics is somewhat hit and miss. Sometimes, in the same vein as Lady Gaga in House of Gucci: thickly accented, but imbued with enough commitment to the bit that it works. But at the same time, also a little like Jared Leto in House of Gucci: absurd, over-the-top, and somewhat inconsistent.
Aaron Robuck 's narrator/taxi driver seems an innocuous enough plot device in the grand scheme of the piece, and the character's disjointed nature isn't helped by Lane's underdeveloped book. Popping up throughout to (quite literally) transport Pepa between main set pieces, accordion in hand, the script takes what is meant to be the show's MC and replaces it with a big question mark on his purpose.
On opening night, the sound levels seemed unbalanced – a weakness in a piece driven by dense lyrics and rapid tempo. Dylan Pollard 's musical direction, whilst being able to give the score a toe-tapping beat that's liable to make your hips shake, drowned out the enunciation from our fast-talking, thick-accented characters.
Nonetheless, this stylish production makes a meal out of an undercooked script, and Hack's leading performance is especially worthwhile – her Pepa is as lived-in and layered as she is hysterical.
The most poignant, powerful and purposeful moments of the show come when all five women are together in unison, particularly in the final moments, which offer the most quiet and peaceful state of the evening. This is what it looks like when women on the brink take back their power – in four-part harmony.