女主角是位化妝師。一個女人自殺，她的兒子雷蒙因為傷心過度而昏迷。那個女人的丈夫以為雷蒙死了，找來情人女主角給雷蒙化妝。這個男人是個作家，他并不是雷蒙的親生父親。化妝期間雷蒙蘇醒過來。后來雷蒙和女主角在一起同居。雷蒙的前女友安德莉亞是一位電視節(jié)目制作人和主持人，專門現(xiàn)場采訪那些驚悚或兇殺的節(jié)目。作家搬到雷蒙所在的地方生活，他住在雷蒙樓上。安德莉亞找到作家，讓他給自己寫劇本。女主角的一位女同事經(jīng)常和作家在一起，還有一位高個子金發(fā)女郎也總來找作家。女主角和雷蒙的家里有一位女傭，女傭的弟弟是罪犯，參加一個悔罪的游行隊伍，趁人不備逃跑。罪犯跑到女主角家里找姐姐，他和姐姐曾經(jīng)亂倫過。罪犯在女主角家里假裝把姐姐綁起來打昏，讓后去偷東西，發(fā)現(xiàn)女主角正睡覺，于是過去強奸女主角，女主角醒過來，罪犯仍然不停止強奸。對面樓里有一位偷窺者發(fā)現(xiàn)這個事情，于是報警。警方趕到，破門而入，將正在強奸女主角的罪犯拉起來，但罪犯掙脫警察逃跑。安德莉亞也得知此事前來采訪，她來到樓下，罪犯搶走她的摩托車逃跑。安德莉亞上樓到女主角家采訪她，遭到拒絕。雷蒙回到家也得知此事。到了晚上，安德莉亞把她偷窺者寄給她的罪犯強奸女主角被強奸的錄像在電視里播出。女主角看到后非常傷心和氣憤。作家看到節(jié)目后也來樓下勸解女主角，并打電話質(zhì)問安德莉亞。雷蒙在和作家的交談中告訴作家，他就是那個偷窺者，也是他報的警，并把錄像寄給安德莉亞。這些內(nèi)容被女主角偷聽到，于是傷心地離開這里。而那位女傭也因為慚愧，和女主角一起離開。雷蒙在觀看一部電影時候突然想到，他母親不是自殺，是作家殺了她。安德莉亞在仔細看那些錄像時發(fā)現(xiàn)作家用花瓶殺了那個高個子的金發(fā)女郎。作家吧高個子金發(fā)女郎的尸體帶到他和雷蒙母親一起住的那座別墅里，想把尸體埋在院子里。他正在屋子里拖動尸體，雷蒙也來到這里。因為雷蒙看了母親的日記，發(fā)現(xiàn)母親很愛作家，但并不喜歡他。雷蒙對作家說了母親的想法，并揭露作家殺死了她。雷蒙發(fā)現(xiàn)高個子金發(fā)女郎的尸體后嚇得昏過去，作家把他放到臥室床上。這時安德莉亞也來到這里，她要采訪作家，為什么殺死金發(fā)女郎。作家不接受采訪，安德莉亞用槍打傷作家，強迫他接受采訪。作家想逃跑，被安德莉亞打成重傷，但他也趁安德莉亞不備，奪過槍殺死安德莉亞。雷蒙出發(fā)前給女主角留了一封道歉信。女主角看到信后也來到別墅這里找雷蒙，進屋后發(fā)現(xiàn)作家奄奄一息，她扶起作家，作家把一部書稿留給她，隨后死在他的懷里。女主角又到臥室里找到雷蒙，用點擊法讓雷蒙醒過來。女主角報警并叫來救護車，雷蒙被抬入救護車后，她開車在后面跟隨。路上遇到一位男子搭車，兩人交流后，女主角同意送他去參加婚禮，婚禮后和他一起去喝酒狂歡。

女主角是這些人里活得最輕松的。做著自己喜歡的工作，也不貪婪財富，不和人勾心斗角。遭到那個罪犯的強奸時，她似乎并不太生氣，而且還有點享受，大概是她本來就很喜歡性愛。只有把她被強奸的畫面在電視里播出，才讓她傷心和生氣，更加上是男友寄出的錄像，對她傷害就更大了。但事情過后她也不再耿耿于懷，又和男友和好了。或許正因為這種性格，她也隨時都能喜歡上一個人。就像先喜歡作家，然后很快就和雷蒙在一起了?；蛟S她答應(yīng)和那位搭車男子一起喝酒狂歡，也是對男友的一種報復(fù)吧。

那位作家或許是想要寫小說的素材和靈感吧，所以才一再的殺人，而且專殺女人。

安德莉亞為了拍攝節(jié)目不擇手段、不顧及別人的感受，而且還認為這是職業(yè)道德，最終因此而死，算是報應(yīng)吧。

片中那些女人對感情、對性愛，似乎都很開放，只是女主角更沒有心機?？磥砦靼嘌廊舜_實是熱情開放的民族，電影里或許有點夸張，但應(yīng)該不會太離譜。

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).