Susana Giménez
Azucena

Four women decide to go together to have fun at a men's strip show. On the trip, the taxi driver pays attention to their conversation where each one tells the others her ideal of a man. Since then, he decides to pass himself off as the ideal man.
I’ve seen this trick before. Four women, freshly bruised by love, pile into a taxi and start listing their dream men like they’re ordering off a menu. The driver, eavesdropping, decides to play the part—because of course he does.
It’s the kind of premise that promises a fizzy, forgettable night at the movies, the cinematic equivalent of a glass of cheap cava: sweet, bubbly, and gone by morning. But The Damned Rib (Esa maldita costilla) isn’t just a late-’90s Argentine rom-com. It’s a time capsule of a very specific cultural moment, one where the wounds of Susana Giménez’s very public divorce were still fresh, where Almodóvar’s shadow loomed large over every Spanish-language comedy, and where the idea of women “taking back” their desires was both a marketing hook and a half-hearted punchline.

The film opens with a shot that feels like it was lifted straight from a perfume ad: Susana Giménez, all smoky eyes and perfectly coiffed hair, staring out a rain-streaked window. She’s Azucena, a woman who’s just been left by her husband for a younger model—a detail that hits a little too close to home, given that Giménez was in the middle of one of Argentina’s most infamous divorces at the time.
The gossip rags had a field day with the parallels, and honestly, it’s hard not to see them. There’s something almost defiant in the way Azucena holds her glass of wine, her fingers tightening around the stem just before she delivers a line about how men are all the same. It’s the kind of moment that plays like a private joke between Giménez and the audience, a wink that says, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, this is about me.
When you cue up The Damned Rib (Esa maldita costilla), you’re not just watching a late‑’90s sex‑and‑love romp—you’re basically mainlining the fallout from one of Argentina’s messiest celebrity divorces, a not‑so‑subtle Almodóvar copycat scheme, and a shoot that literally had to stop because the leading man got hurt. Let’s dig into the dirt.
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