[Film Review] Kika (1993) 7.6/10
Blatantly subversive, bawdy and lecherous, Almodóvar’s KIKA isn’t for those faint-hearted or prudish, in this ubiquitously crimson satire of insidious perversion, Forqué plays the titular Kika, a simple-minded make-up artist unwisely becomes romantically entangled with a step-father-and-son pair, Nicolas (Coyote) is an expatriate American novelist and Ramón (Casanovas), his stepson, is a fashion photographer.
Morbidity seeps from the word go, Rafaela (a cameo by López), Nicolas’ wife and Ramón’s mother, apparently injures Nicolas and kills herself with a pistol; the first time Kika meets Ramón, he is presumably dead but she magically resurrects him (which is reprised in a similar scenario near the coda); another key player is Andrea (Abril), whose nickname is “Scarface”, a psychiatrist-turned-reality-show-host, tricked out in proper outlandish, sometimes futuristic Gaultier garb, she is fanatically thirsty for anything that is violently wanton and visually obscene to ramp up viewing ratings, not to mention she is Rámon’s ex and not willingly to have a “no” for an answer.
As the plot thickens, all sorts of kinks are strewn along the way at the expense of Kika’s mishap (sometimes fittingly synchronized with Almodóvar’s choice selection of reused accompaniment, a suite from PSYCHO for instance), she is two-timed, betrayed by her best friend Amparo (Alonso), gets ravished by a virile convict-at-large Pablo (Lajusticia), who is a former porn star, not entirely compos mentis, an incest committer with his sister Juana (de Palma), who happens to be Kika’s maid and doesn’t belie her sapphic feelings for her. Furthermore, it slowly turns out, the two men in Kika’s life, are nothing if not perverse, Nicolas turns out to be a ruthless murderer (whose latest lurid novel could be his autobiography) and Nicolas, a catalepsy-prone scopophiliac creep, both reveals are masterfully cued by Joseph Losey’s THE PROWLER playing on the screen.
On paper, it is hard to imagine how to make a farcical meal out of those aforementioned atrocities, but in the hands of a genius like Almodóvar, even the most horrendous happenstance can be slyly modulated into jolt audience’s funny bone. Taking the extreme example of Kika’s rape, only Almodóvar can get a hall pass for depicting it as laughing matter exactly because he doesn’t self-consciously shy away from it, conversely, he ingeniously prolongs the process (Pablo needs to ejaculate 5 times to feel sated) to a surreal scenario (he is driven by primal desire purely, there is little menace involved), which is also side-splittingly helped by the facetious assistance of a chair-bound Juana and two ham-fisted cops (Bonilla and Elejalde). Sex is fun, Almodóvar’s own queer identity attests, being ravished by a young stallion is nearly palatable as long as physically violence is strictly kept at bay.
Forqué, finally upgraded to a leading role in an Almodóvar picture in their third collaboration, perfectly sublimates Kika’s befuddled naivety into a winning combo of compassion and lovability, her trademark overbite and auburn pelt distinguishes her from those tacky screen bimbos, and she convincingly sustains Kika’s characteristically devil-may-care sanguineness to a fare-thee-well, to a brilliant ending evinces that she is the type who is jauntily immune to any number of nervous breakdown.
By comparison, her two male co-stars fare less effective, Coyote seems to habitually wallow in a broody or foul mood and Casanovas is too wet behind the ears to delve into Ramón’s broken psyche. Thus, it falls upon Almodóvar’s other two stock players to save the day, de Palma tops off the movie as a first-class comedienne without debasing Juana’s primitiveness and candor; yet, the most delectable class act is Abril, under Andrea’s over-the-top, eye-opening outfit (a helm-mounted camcorder comes rather handy), throbbing a monstrous soul represents what is morally wrong about the now rampant reality show plethora, Abril is perversely relentless and exhibits Andrea’s wickedness all over the place till the last gasp.
Other than a tried-and-tested garish trendsetter, a whip-smart tale-teller and a taboo-flouting feminist, in KIKA, Almodóvar also asserts himself as a prescient social commentator, after all, “I don’t want my rape to sell more milk!” is Kika’s only anathema, that rather speaks volumes in a picture teeming with backdoor human proclivities, both mortal and venial.
referential entries: Almodóvar’s I’M SO EXCITED! (2013, 6.7/10); WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS? (1984, 7.0/10).
