‘Kiss of the Spider Woman’ Review
The movie musical has had an identity crisis over the years. With the usage of Technicolor long since subdued, thanks to the rise of digital photography and musicals often revelling in more dramatic, darker thematic material, the movie musical that we think of is not the popular art form that it once was. Instead of bright colours, showy musical numbers choreographed to within an inch of their life, and an emphasis on spectacle over narrative, everything is far more severe and dour. The less said about last year’s Emilia Pérez, the better. However, last year’s trainwreck from Jacques Audiard represented an attempt to do something tonally dark while bringing the musical into the modern world. It proved to be a complete misfire, reconfirming the musical to relic status unless it’s weaponized through nostalgia, adaptations of prolific stage musicals, or Disney fodder. There are only a handful of directors who seem capable of handling the genre without giving in entirely to modern sensibilities—and, unfortunately, they have bills to pay which the movie musical’s box office track record might not allow.
Bill Condon’s Kiss of the Spider Woman is not innocent of falling into these pitfalls. However, what makes Condon’s film treatment of the 1992 stage musical (itself an adaptation of the 1976 novel) worth celebrating is how it serves as a reminder of what the movie musical can be, while instilling that same sense of fantasy and escape into its narrative. The result is an informative treatise on the power of film, stardom, and storytelling in allowing people to see themselves in dark times and find comfort in the refuge. Wielding the stardom of Jennifer Lopez in multiple roles as the titular Spider Woman, the alluring Aurora, and the actress Ingrid Luna, and dual performances from Diego Luna and breakout star Tonatiuh, Kiss of the Spider Woman maintains a tonal balance between fantasy and reality, whilst delivering the kind of musical spectacle that only film can provide.
Self-awareness of an audience’s knee-jerk reaction to musicals is embedded in Condon’s screenplay. Valentin (Luna) is a political prisoner being held captive during the final year of the Dirty War—a period of state-led terrorism in Argentina that targeted political dissidents. Kiss of the Spider Woman picks up in 1983, just before democracy was restored in the country. The prison warden dangles the potential of early parole for Luis Molina (Tonatiuh), under the condition that he extract information from Valentin to suppress any further anti-government operations. Placed within the same cell, Molina and Valentin could not be more different: the former avoids reality as much as possible through watching films, while Valentin is smack-dab in the center of political turmoil within his country.
There’s a friction that Molina needs to confront to get any information out of Valentin, but he does it his way. Flamboyant and extremely persistent, Molina distracts Valentin from the tedium of revolution by recounting the events of one of his favourite films, ‘Kiss of the Spider Woman,’ starring his favourite actress, Ingrid Luna (Lopez). Quick changes to the characters by Molina to find himself and Valentin within them provide an excuse to have Tonatiuh and Luna embody roles within Molina’s favourite film. On the one hand, it’s an easy way of allowing varied performances from the film’s actors, but it’s also a blunt means of letting characters see themselves in the movie. A lot of the early segments in Kiss of the Spider Woman contend with the notion that musicals aren’t for everybody. I will be the first to admit I’ve never been a massive fan of musicals, and it’s for reasons that the film openly confronts. By integrating Molina and Valentin as characters within the film-within-a-film, Condon’s screenplay can balance the darkness that reality brings with the escapism that film and storytelling provide.
Kiss of the Spider Woman is not without some hiccups, though, specifically in that the final act of the film shifts almost suddenly and then snowballs rapidly from there. However, the nuance of the performances compensates for a lack of grace in the act transitions. Luna and Tonatiuh have a great chemistry that gradually reveals itself as the two characters peel back their differences to find the unerring constant that binds them. While the film is ostensibly a two-hander in the acting department, Molina is the central character, and Valentin feels more like a support system and catalyst for self-acceptance in Molina as the rest of society outside of his cell shuns him for his sexual orientation. Most will come to see Lopez dazzle in a performance that accentuates her abilities as a dancer, singer, and actress, but it’s Tonatiuh who is the revelation of the film and hopefully continues to find roles this meaty and significant.
Admiration for Condon’s screenplay trickles over into the lavish production and costume design meant to replicate a bygone era of musicals. Vibrant colours, intricate choreography, and a willingness to lean into the grandeur of it all convey Molina’s vision of Ingrid Luna’s film as more than just a relic: it’s something that sticks with you through all the pain. Cameras swoon over its stars and bring a vitality to Molina’s recounting of the film while hearkening to past movie musicals. Tobias Schliessler has been working with Condon for a long time now as his cinematographer, and the pair are in synch with how the two tones of the film should feel visually. The film falters mainly in its music, with virtually no song leaving a memorable impression, aside from Lopez's impressive performances. It’s a shame for a film to have so much dedication to its craft that the songwriting lets down the musical numbers. They’re not bad; they just don’t hold a candle to everything else surrounding them.
Mostly, it’s an impressive feat to make a movie musical that does not feel completely lost to time or purely for a single audience. Kiss of the Spider Woman evokes a bygone era but interrogates what it means to yearn for something antiquated. As its protagonist’s identity becomes more entangled in the film-within-a-film, Condon’s screenplay meaningfully explores the timeless nature of art as a chance to see oneself in a way they can only imagine. Representation in media is a continuous uphill battle, and Kiss of the Spider Woman serves as a reminder of why movies must continue to be made available for people to see on the largest scale possible. While it may not be a perfect movie, or even an incredible one, it is undeniably a vital conversation starter about why films matter. Its minor blemishes do little to detract from an otherwise excellent achievement in persuasive storytelling that will still appease musical fans and cinephiles alike.
