“Is it live, or is it Memorex?” If we do not forever memorialize an experience as a “Kodak moment,” is it worth remembering?

Spanish director Pedro Almodovar wraps his camera around the theme of the seductiveness of second-hand experience in his 1993 film Kika. The story revolves around Kika, a flibbertigibbet who works as a make-up artist, and her photographer boyfriend Ramon.

The initial image in Kika, a curvaceous woman disrobing as viewed through a keyhole, establishes the theme of voyeurism. Early in the film, Ramon (played by Alex Casanovas) is seen working as a lingerie photographer, straddling a beautiful model in a copulatory pose, but achieving a distanced consummation through the camera’s lens. Almodovar repeatedly captures the characters in action as reflected by mirrors. Voyeurism is most dramatically depicted by the huge telescopic camera lens focused on a rape in progress, the invasiveness of the phallic lens overpowering the literal penetration on which it focuses. The lunatic fascination with vicarious experience is quietly portrayed in the nighttime image of the city skyline lit equally by the full moon and the Sony advertising sign.

Kika carries on an affair with Ramon’s stepfather, Nicholas, an expatriate American writer. Nicholas novelizes the tragedies in his life, including his wife’s death, and extends his opportunism to yet another level by appearing on a talk show to promote his work. He is played by Peter Coyote, who appropriately conveys Nicholas’s dispassionate and conniving personality.

Ramon’s former psychologist, Andrea Scarface hosts a television show that features film of true crime and violence. Andrea has forsaken the intimacy of therapy for the publicity of broadcasting. Victoria Abril, who appears in many of Almodovar’s films, exudes a histrionic intensity in her portrayal of Andrea and creates a chilling femme fatale reminiscent of Puig’s Spider Woman. Abril’s costumes, designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier with exaggerated curves, cut, and embellishment, further the caricature of Andrea. [Costume sketches by Gaultier appear at http://www.jpgaultier.fr/Pages/FR/BIO/rencontre/almodovar.html.] She is at her most disquieting when speeding about on her yellow motorcycle, fueled by adrenaline, sporting a wicked skintight jumpsuit, her videocamera mounted atop her helmet, bright lights shining from each breast, as she rushes to the scene of a tragedy in search of an interview.

Kika, played annoyingly ditsy by Veronica Forque, personifies the naïve spirit of disregard for truth and preoccupation with the superficial. She is chatty, super-coifed, and distracted during sexual intimacy and sexual trespass. She is oblivious to the immorality of her own affair, but outraged when she is betrayed by her lover. [An online dictionary shows “kika” to be a Swedish word meaning “pry, peep, peer,” reflecting the theme of voyeurism.]

The brightly colored sets and costumes provide an ironic cheery contrast to the plot events of death, violence, rape, and betrayal. Almodovar uses primary colors and primitive designs of polka dots, bold stripes, and checkerboard patterns to create a childlike happy ambience. This irony is reflected by a film poster seen briefly in one scene for “La Cirque de Horreurs,” the Circus of Horrors.

The camera does not linger long in any scene. The movie is composed of many very short sequences. These quick images, combined with the use of bright colors and designs, recreate the lighthearted mood of television or comic books. With these visual effects, Almodovar develops the ironic theme as well as offers some comic relief for the viewer.

These tragicomic characters do discover truth, but only through recordings – through filmed images, typed pages, or handwritten diary entries. They only become fully aware (or aroused) when distanced. They grow complacent hiding behind their media, and they are easily discovered.

Kika is both a dark comedy and a sharp cultural commentary. It is an indictment of the contemporary preoccupation with watching someone else’s life, that oxymoronic phenomenon we know as “reality TV.” Through the deft juxtaposition of tragic and comic images, Almodovar lets us watch the watchers, peep in on the voyeurs, and in doing so he reflects us to ourselves.

Kika (1993)
Written and directed by Pedro Almodovar
Spanish, with English subtitles
114 minutes




Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age