Amidst a climate of endless reboots and remakes, a new version of “Kiss of the Spider Woman” has more justification than most. Based on gay Argentinean writer Manuel Puig’s 1976 novel, Hector Babenco’s 1985 film was a product of its times. That comes out in some positive ways: Babenco had firsthand experience of the dictatorships in Argentina and Brazil that existed right as he was working. He challenged the very authoritarianism under which the film was made.
Our ideas about representation and authenticity have changed considerably over the last 40 years, but even at the time, casting William Hurt as Luis Molina, a gay Latinx man, must have seemed rather odd. (Raul Julia, who was Puerto Rican, portrayed his cellmate.) The film’s conception of his character is far worse. Molina is a mélange of stereotypes about queer men, including pedophilia. Hurt’s performance is so exaggeratedly femme that it screams out “Look, I’m acting! I’m nothing like this character!” The film also reflects confusion about the difference between gay men and trans women, even if this was much more common in the ‘80s. The narrative patronizes Molina, treating him as so dense about politics that he can’t understand his favorite film as a piece of Nazi propaganda.
Gay director Bill Condon’s take on “Kiss of the Spider Woman” is based on Terence McNally’s 1993 Broadway musical (with lyrics and music written by “Cabaret” creators John Kander and Fred Ebb), yet it still keeps intact most of the plot from Babenco’s film. This time, Molina is played by out queer Mexican-American actor Tonatiuh. He shares a jail cell with Valentin (Diego Luna), a dour communist revolutionary introduced reading a biography of Lenin. While Molina was sentenced for having sex in a restroom (a big change from his earlier incarnation’s “corrupting a minor conviction”), the government has ordered Valentin brutally tortured. Unbeknownst to him, Molina has been placed in his cell by the warden (Bruno Bichir) to spy on Valentin in hopes of learning more about his fellow activists. To wile away the time, Molina recites the plot of his favorite film, “Kiss of the Spider Woman.” He adores its star, Ingrid Luna (Jennifer Lopez). It’s a Hollywood musical dating from the ‘40s or ‘50s, set in a Latin American locale. In the film-within-the-film, Lopez plays its two protagonists, while Tonatiuh and Luna reappear in different guises. At first hostile, despite their differences, the two prisoners become friends and even have sex.
The bond between Molina and Valentin is a touching aspect of both film versions of “Kiss of the Spider Woman.” Each character starts out as a theatrically exaggerated version of his personality. Molina enters their cell gesturing flamboyantly and speaking loudly about his love of movies. (His Letterboxd account would be a marvel!) Valentin is gruff brocialist, asking Molina to stop talking so he can focus on studying his books, although less explicitly homophobic than the “faggot”-spewing character played by Julia. Still, he’s far less enlightened about sexuality and traditional gender roles than he thinks. That surface soon cracks, but beneath it lies a reserve of affection. The film celebrates two people society pressures to hate each other coming to do the opposite. Tonatiuh’s performance dodges the stereotypes it might have fallen into, and he and Luna have great chemistry together.
“Kiss of the Spider Woman” is Condon’s fourth musical. Its attitude towards the film-within-the-film marks its biggest change from Babenco’s take on this story. The earlier movie shared a degree of Valentin’s disdain for mass entertainment as a tool of right-wing indoctrination, as the audience witnesses the character testify to his love for a film about “weird-looking men with little hats” being attacked. It toned down the seductiveness of such images; even at its glossiest, Babenco’s “Kiss of the Spider Woman” remains gritty. By contrast, Condon layers on artificial, heavily saturated colors during the fantasy scenes. (The lipstick practically shines.) The songs are upbeat and expertly choreographed. This provides a much greater relief from the horrors of the prison. Lopez navigates the tricky position of incarnating a woman who’s more icon than character.
I’ve referred to Molina as “he” through the review because the film does, but it heavily suggests that Molina’s actually a trans woman, without spelling it unambiguously. Doing so less crudely than Babenco’s version (in which Molina says he wants to cut his penis off), it drops numerous signs that his identification with Lopez’s glamour means more than admiration of her charisma and beauty. He doesn’t just want to look at her, he’d like to be her. Consequently, his life’s events work their way into the film-within-the-film. The final song confirms that his ultimate dream would be living as a woman.
“Kiss of the Spider Woman” believes in the power of art as consolation for unhappy lives, unable to bring about real change or avert tragedy. It veers between the grim spectacle of Valentin’s daily beatings, the love he and Molina share, and the possibility fiction offers for at least imagining something brighter. The specifics are more distant than they were in 1985; removing Molina’s attraction to Nazi propaganda makes this a safer film. As exuberant as it can be, it’s ultimately a sad reflection on a life that can only be fulfilled in the realm of fantasy.
“Kiss of the Spider Woman” | Directed by Bill Condon | Lionsgate/Roadside Attractions/LD Entertainment | Opens October 9th in wide release
