It is the year 411 BC, and the Peloponnesian War between Sparta, Athens, and their allies has dragged on for nearly two decades. In a bold bid to end the bloodshed, the women take a radical stand on the Acropolis, where the Athenian treasure is kept, led by Lisístrata, Maribel Verdú. They vow to withhold sex from their husbands until peace is reached, turning the war into a domestic crisis that affects every layer of Greek society.
As the strike unfolds, the military machine stalls in an unexpected way. The men begin to suffer from exaggerated erections, a visual and comic motif carried with stage-craft that mirrors Aristophanes’ tradition, and this unforeseen hindrance adds a surreal twist to the battlefield. The Spartans confront the same fate, creating a shared, ridiculous paradox that underscores how intimate stakes can influence grand strategy.
To navigate the crisis, the eccentric figure of Hepatitos, Juan Luis Galiardo, emerges as a comic savior. Posing as a medical doctor, Hepatitos convinces the generals to pursue a bold, unorthodox remedy: temporary, circumstantial homosexuality among soldiers as a means to relieve sexual pressure. The plan is met with initial resistance, but curiosity and relief quickly take hold, and the troops start to explore these new bonds.
What follows is a shift in the mood of the camp. Relationships among men begin to flourish, and some soldiers even form attachments to enemies rather than continuing the fight. This turn of events unsettles the women, who had hoped their strike would force a political settlement, yet it also sows the seeds for a broader rethinking of intimacy and loyalty. By the end, the strike dissolves and peace is established, though the story leaves a provocative note: in this world, homosexual and heterosexual connections are portrayed as more fluid and interchangeable than in traditional wartime codes.
Beyond the farce, the film is grounded by occasional moments of historical color. It includes a surprisingly accurate life-size replica of the Phidian statue of Pallas Athene in the Parthenon, a nod to the era’s artistry amid the sprawling melee of sexual and political reform. And there are echoes of myth—one scene where a warrior is spared from killing a radiant foe by beauty itself nods to the legend of Achilles and Troilus, blending legend with the film’s cheeky sensibility.
Overall, the movie sits at a curious intersection of bawdy comedy and historical satire. It delights in parody, thrives on outrageous visual gags, and uses its infectiously mischievous premise to question ideas about power, gender, and the nature of peace. Through its playful anachronisms and bold mischief, the film invites the audience to laugh at human folly while still considering how intimate choices can ripple through the political world.
