Like all other films by the Spanish director Pedro Almodovar, Kika (1993) portrays a motley of interwoven jaunty romantic-sexual affairs: always complicated and messy, usually tragicomic and never between two people. At the heart of the story lies the cosmetologist Kika’s relation with Ramon, whom she literally brings back to life during making the corpse up, preparing the “deceased” for the funeral. Yet she also has an affair with Ramon’s stepfather: Nicholas, a novelist who writes stories about novelists killing their wives. His subject matter makes the death of his ex-wife (Ramon’s mother) a suspicious one, and also his affairs with other women inspire doubts. The incessant mourning of Ramon has the side-effect of his fascination with Kika, who tries to find a way out of her entanglement with the two men. Things get worse (and more farcical) after she is raped and that very event is televised, owing to the video recording by an unidentified peeper.
With Kika we will also start watching a series of films on gazing, voyeurism and secret following.