Kika

Pedro Almodovar may be preparing to self-destruct. His latest film, Kika, is rife with the tensions and contradictions of a filmmaker who’s in the process of subconconsciously bolting from an earlier phase of his work while lumbering toward a new, but dimly perceived direction. In other words, Almodovar may be having a so-called artistic crisis, and Kika is either the Spanish wunderkind’s first step toward maturity or the smoldering remnants of his youth.

At the moment, it’s a tough call.

On the surface, Kika has all of the trappings of a typical Almodovar farce: his trademark mix of sex, absurdity, campy sets, warped brutality, B-movie histrionics and avant-garde pretensions. For most of Kika’s first half, bits and pieces of Almodovar’s previous movies are casually recycled. It’s as if he has nothing better to do than photograph footnotes to his career.

Kika (Veronica Forque) is a sweet-faced innocent who divides her time between her work as a make-up artist and her pursuit of a man who may be capable of returning the love she feels for him. Ramon (Alex Casanovas) just might be able to love her – if he can ever get over his mother’s suicide and his interest in voyeurism. Ramon’s step-father is Nicholas (Peter Coyote), an American writer who had a fling with Kika while married to Ramon’s mother. Nicholas is also busy having an affair with Amparo (Anabel Alonso), Kika’s best friend. Rounding out the sexual geometry is Andrea Scarface (Victoria Abril), a psychologist turned host of the grisly, but popular, TV crime show, Today’s Worst. Andrea is Ramon’s ex-lover, a relationship that left her with a facial slash and a taste for videotaping violence.

Kika plays out its initial tale of romantic misadventure against a backdrop of bright, solid colors and horny non sequiturs. It’s another cartoonish romp by Almodovar, as he appears to cash in on his own brand of formula filmmaking.

Or at least it is until he derails his own film with a protracted scene in which Kika is raped by a porno star/escaped convict. The scene is played – as only Almodovar can – for both laughs and shock; it’s a mad plunge into the abyss. It also marks the beginning of a different movie, as a darker, despairing mood descends upon the screen. The comic strip gives way to realism as murder and betrayal intrude into the picture.

This radical departure of Kika’s second half plays as if Almodovar is acknowledging that his own brand of black comedy simply isn’t fun anymore. The director of Law of Desire, Matador, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, and Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! seems to be tired of his own inflated universe, as he evokes the last stretch of Kika to a study on misogyny and post-modernist nihilism.

In making this very calculated and risky maneuver, Almodovar is potentially abandoning both his films and his audience. In a way, it’s about time he did. He’s often been compared to both Luis Bunuel and Rainer Werner Fassbinder, but Almodovar is neither. He lacks the intellectual daring of Bunuel and doesn’t come close to the stylistic audacity of Fassbinder.

But Kika could be Almodovar’s first move toward something genuinely different. It may be a step toward a period of major new work, or it may prove to be a blunder of career-wrenching proportions. It may even turn out to be simply an anomaly.

I’m not sure. I’m not even certain what I think about this movie. But so much uncertainty is already a plus for Almodovar – this time, he’s truly earning his reputation as a daring filmmaker.