Sometimes you stumble upon a series so addictive, but you dread the thought of finishing it in one go, because the material is loaded with several unpleasant characters and events to make you wonder whether you're strong enough to binge it. Luis Estrada's Las Muertas (aka The Dead Girls) is not the most disturbing series I've seen, but it features enough hard-hitting events with after-effects that linger in your mind even after a day has passed after completing the finale. Unlike most shows and films out there that depict men being cruel to women, this is a story that haunts with its portrayal of women's ruthlessness to their own kind.
Be it women or men, you'll meet some of the most twisted, sinister, and heartless characters in this six-episode miniseries based on a Mexican novel of the same name — widely regarded as a masterpiece — by Jorge Ibargüengoitia. While fictional, the author based his gripping narrative on the infamous exploits of four real-life sisters. Collectively known as 'Las Poquianchis', they ran a major prostitution enterprise in the 1950s and early '60s. They briefly lived like queens, their reign leaving a long trail of blood and broken hearts.
However, Estrada's adaptation comes with a darkly comic edge. It puts a fresh spin on the events that inspired it. It presents an enticing mix of fact and fiction. Aside from recounting a rise-and-fall story of the madams — the action primarily swirls around just two sisters, Arcángela Baladaro and Serafina Baladaro — the show is a mystery, character drama, and historical account rolled into one. It sets out to investigate whether the Baladaro sisters really committed all the crimes they have been accused of, or whether they were brought down by a system rife with corruption, hypocrisy, and political agendas. Everyone appears rotten. The only difference is in the degrees of rot.
As a hardcore fan of the femme fatale-centric noir from the 1930s to 1960s, the first episode hooked me instantly. Had it not been in colour, I would've presumed it was made in the very period in which it was set. The superlative, flawless cinematography and period-appropriate production design were enough to grab my attention. With anything set in an older era, it's always a challenge for filmmakers to get that transportive, time-travel experience right. Very rarely do they succeed. A few examples? The Godfather, L. A. Confidential, Chinatown.
The Dead Girls, too, is exceptional in that regard. Its images are so immersive that they make you forget, for a while, that you're someone living in 2025. I strongly believe Estrada had used the excellent Mexican classic Victims of Sin (1951) — another story about prostitutes and criminals — as a visual reference. Those of you who have seen the Emilio Fernández film will note the similarities in atmosphere.
The Dead Girls also benefits from an elegant, measured storytelling approach. Filmmaker Luis Estrada, a veteran of Mexican cinema, doesn't fall prey to the demands of the Instagram or TikTok-addled audiences. Save for a few places where a quick montage is employed, this show is the perfect epitome of "slow-burn".
Do not bother to see if you want all the information delivered in 30 seconds. Estrada makes things interesting by not always following a linear approach. There are times when it surprises you by showing in detail an event that actually occurred in the background of an event from an earlier episode. And then the realisation hits that if we had been shown the same earlier, the series would’ve run the risk of draining us more emotionally than it already does, to the point of, perhaps, making us discontinue watching.
Each episode, which runs for a little more than an hour, is comprised of one or more chapters, backstories, missing events, and ambiguous endings. It also finds time for a copious amount of nudity and sex — after all, it’s set in brothels! Suffice to say, do not watch this show in the presence of kids — or puritanical folks.
However, this is a show that allows the pulpy and sleazy elements only a brief space; they’re not excessive enough to meddle with events of larger magnitude. A few characters who appeared in the background in early episodes are given more prominence in the latter, with the images in one particularly devastating episode — involving a young black woman — tough to shake off. As I said, women being miserable to women. Suffice to say, don't watch this show during or after meals.
The actors all deliver superlative performances across the board, especially Paulina Gaitan as Serafina, who brings a potent combination of unbridled lust, obsession, and cunning, aside from a measure of vulnerability. Gaitan's personality immediately recalls some of Salma Hayek’s early roles. Both share the necessary ferocity and oomph required for roles like these.
At one point, Serafina's sister and their business's head honcho, Arcángela (Arcelia Ramírez), blames her for playing a big part in their misfortunes, and the former simply responds, "Is it my fault that I'm so passionate?" Funnily enough, her sister is not without flaws either. When it comes to digging their own graves, every major character makes significant contributions.
Chronicling events from the 1930s to 1960s, the show’s structure allows it to switch between the past and present, with one big question in mind: Are women — or their emotions — responsible for everything that happens in this story? Or is it the men pulling the strings from behind the curtain? Do not expect to find all the answers, and do not attempt to binge it. It took me nearly a week. Heavy, sure, but immensely rewarding, too.
Series: Las Muertas (The Dead Girls)
Director: Luis Estrada
Cast: Paulina Gaitán, Arcelia Ramirez, Joaquín Cosío, Alfonso Herrera
Rating: 5/5
