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ALMODOVAR SPEAKING
I had never changed a title so many times. In the end, it's happened
just like with "Mujeres..." (Women on the Verge
of a Nervous Breakdown) and "Qué he hecho yo...?!"
(What Have I Done to Deserve This?!): I've gone back to the
first one, i.e. the provisional "Kika." When I
started writing the screenplay, between production trips, Kika
(the character) was the lady and owner of the story.
As usual, I wrote it for fun, just to get away from everything.
Also as usual, it was initially just a translation of my needs.
The world surrounding me and my own world were threatening me now
and I needed a good dose of optimism. I wanted to restore the fresh
breath of comedy for my life and films. That's how Kika (the
title) and Kika (the character) were born. A girl as innocent
as Marilyn at her best, Kika is not aware of danger
(just like Candela-Barranco in "Mujeres..."), she's
positive and has no prejudice. She's always ready (like Patty
Diphusa), sensitive and contemporary (like the Holly Golightly
in "Breakfast at Tiffany's", my eternal female
reference). A character of an almost surrealistic optimism -so suitable
for a comedy.
But time brought circumstances into Kika's way, other characters
with a genre each. The antagonistic Andrea Caracortada, her
partner's stepfather, Nicholas Pierce, and her partner himself,
Ramon. All of whom, much darker, had occurred to me unexpectedly.
As the writer, I had imposed Kika's shellproof optimism,
but the writing itself had brought the other three. It's not the
first time that writing leads me, that's how it should be; writing
rules.
Halfway down the story, Kika is raped by an ex-porn actor.
But compared to what she provokes, rape is not the worst thing that
could have happened to her. Then I thought the film's title should
be "An Untimely Rape", a kind of Noel Coward's
subtle and sarcastic title whose meaning was to be understood after
seeing the film. But there are touchy people in this world who don't
need to see a film before campaigning against it.
I hated the idea of being misunderstood and having someone believe
that to me there is a kind of timely rape. That annoyed me, but
not as much as it upset my brother. In order to avoid misunderstandings,
the best solution was to change the title. I've always denied that
people's opinions should have the least influence on my work, but
the idea of being taken for something was real, and the title didn't
pay for it.
In between these two, there was another one which didn't last long:
"The Tamil's Eyes" In the first draft, Kika had
had a love affair in the past with a tamil warrior (Sri Lanka)
in the Canary Islands, but he died violently in a bombing. Years
later, in Madrid, Kika finds a voyeur is watching her. She falls
in love as soon as she meets him, there's something familiar about
him: his eyes. The voyeur happened to had had the tamil's eyes transplanted
(I had read in the newspaper that the organs of some terrorists
who died violently were used for transplants). After his death,
the tamil warrior still loved and protected her. This story fell
off in the second draft. The voyeur remained but for different reasons.
The title had lost its significance. But I was tempted to keep it
-I loved "Reservoir dogs", a film with a meaningless
title. But I knew I'd never do something like that.
Meanwhile, one of the four main characters, the one played by Peter
Coyote, an errant, captivating American writer who had come
to Spain to make some reports on hunting, began phagotyzing
part of the story. On the nature of killing, he writes "killing
is like cutting your toe nails. You never feel like the first time,
but then you start and find out it's much easier than you thought.
Then you think you'll never need to do it again but, before you
realize, your nails have grown long again." This beautiful
metaphor from a book by Andreu Martin gave me the idea of the fourth
title: "The Killer's Nails".
The fact is that the film's title could perfectly be "Laberinto
de pasiones" (Labyrinth of Passions), "Qué
he hecho yo para merecer esto?!" or "Mujeres al borde
de un ataque de nervios". All three of them fit like a
glove, but those titles already exist, I used them myself.
"Today's Worst" is the name of the reality show
presented by one of the characters, Andrea Caracortada (Victoria
Abril), one of the four posts of my cart. She's a former psychologist
and new journalist fascinated by psychos who sleeps lulled by share
figures. Her dream is to become a psycho herself, but she has to
find content in showing the world the worst side of the daily reality
and reaching as much audience as possible.
The story takes place in two intense, frenzy and crazy days that
start off as a vaudeville and end up in an evilish way. The bad
thing about the title was that it provided my all time enemies with
an excuse for the coarsest comments: Almodovar's Worst, This Year's
Worst Film, etc. And my brother convinced me of how inappropriate
such a crude subliminal title was. We took it off.
Then I considered titling it "A Horrible Summer Day".
It sounds good in every language and I like the anti-touristic component
attached to it. Despite the word horrible, it's a light title and
fits in the story's tone and, at the same time, it's general and
abstract enough. This one was followed by "She Good, She
Bad and She Ugly". The Good was Veronica Forque;
the Ugly, Rossy de Palma, who also plays a leading
role (she's the moustached Sicilian-looking maid, the secret sister
of her madam's rapist); and the Bad is, of course, Victoria
Abril. Funny, but hardly serious. The result: I discarded it.
Then came "Cock Therapy". Reasons for discarding: same
as in the previous title.
As I was readying the shooting, rehearsing with the actors and diving
into their personalities, I discovered the unbounded work of Dis
Berlin; hundreds of fantastic collage works, all of them
dominated by the naked body of The Woman, treated in a way that
is irrational, amazed, tense and sarcastic at the same time. And
with large doses of perversion and hermetic exhibitionism -should
this be possible. All these qualities describe the character of
Ramón (Alex Casanovas), Kika's partner. He's
a lingerie specialist photographer who, just like the protagonist
in "Peeping Tom" feels the need to catch the face
of death, Ramon tries to find the face of pleasure in his
models' features. The work of Dis Berlin (on display from today
at Kika's set) completes and enriches the character of Ramon. It
creates a universe for him and explains his personality. And shouldn't
that be enough, it provided me with the title and technical support
necessary for my natural eclecticism.
Ever since I decided Ramon would be a collage artist, thanks to
the generosity and inspiration from Dis Berlin, there could be no
other title: COLLAGE. Because that's what "Kika"
is, a mix of different characters belonging to different genres.
I was born eclectic. Blend and impurity conform my character. And
it's a tendency I've never fought, even though I admit that, in
Kika (the film), this coexistence of different genres is more explicit
and conscious than ever. This aspect of mine has always triggered
difficulties with Spanish critics, but at the same time it's the
quality their foreign colleagues highlight the most. Like the previous
film, this was produced by Ciby 2000, a French company. They
faxed us saying that "Collage", apart from sounding banal
in French, was already shot. There were a short and a feature under
that same title (I'd better finish this, otherwise I'll run out
of time for the first shot). Anyway, after a small referendum, the
film was to be titled "Kika" once again -I hope it's for
good this time. It will be the same in all languages, it's abstract
but nice at the same time, it doesn't mean anything, and it's short
and noisy. And it takes me back to the roots, the initial optimism,
the innocence and will to live, even if it has to be in hell.
Kika (the film) is (will be) a comedy attempt of dramatically resisted
characters poisoned by the end. It shares with "Mujeres..."
the humor, feminine story and urban life. But if the thesis in "Mujeres..."
consisted of showing an idyllic city where everything was livable
(drugstore attendants didn't ask for a doctor's prescription, cabdrivers
were truly angel guardians, and friendship was a safe shelter) and
whose sole tension generator was the fact that men leave women,
in "Kika" the city is a threatening hell where
men don't leave women but lie to them, keep quiet, tail them and,
if necessary, kill them.
And that's all for me -if I let myself go there won't be no surprises
when the film is released. And for that day to come, first I have
to begin shooting.
So long.
ROLLING AND… ACTION!.
Pedro Almodovar
(One hour before starting the shooting of his tenth film)
SQUARES AND CIRCLES
Peter Bodganovich's "What's up, Doc?" tells
the story of four characters who happen to own the same plaid suitcase
and take lodgings in the same hotel. Such a gratuitous basis doesn't
impede the film being delicious. It doesn't mean either that there
are no other kind of suitcases in the US, I've been there
and can assure that in such an enormous country one can purchase
articles by all the manufacturers in the travel goods industry.
Then, why the coincidence? What were the writers' reasons for basing
the whole plot on it?
In movies, as in life, there are questions one shall never wonder,
questions which deserve no answers whatsoever. These two questions
belong to that category.
But, why talk about "What's up, Doc?"? What's
the relation with "Kika"?
Both are comedies ("Kika" is probably not to be
filed under that category, maybe under comedies full of impurities).
Both are shot in color. The American is shot in San Francisco and
there's a Doña Paquita in the Spanish one (in Spain,
Paquita is the friendly name for Francisca). Both films include
an actress with great comic sense and protruding nose (Barbra
Streissand and Rossy de Palma).
But there's still something else. The suitcases shown in Bodgnanovich's
comedy are plaid, a kind of Scottish plaid made of squares of different
colors and sizes that weave and create more squares of a new tonality
altogether. In "Kika" this geometrical shape, the
square, appears over and over again on floors, walls, shirts, upholstery,
sheets, napkins, etc.
Why such persistence? What narrative, aesthetic or linguistic value
do squares convey? That's another question I lack a serious answer
for.
I've started off this whimsical reflection by mentioning "What's
up, Doc?" exactly because it keeps no special relation
with "Kika". The standard pattern for commenting a film
deals with its references, beginning with those the author admits
as so. But I must admit I haven't taken a single reference when
shooting. I would be lying if a said I found my inspiration in "Citizen
Kane" or "The searchers" I also have the
feeling that "Kika" does not belong to any specific
genre, since I haven't abided by any of their rules.
The most objective comment I can say about it is that this is my
movie number 10. That was the grade for excelling exams when I went
to school, so no one will deny that 10, even if it just regards
chronology.
But let's stick to geometry. Apart from squares, in the set of "Kika"
there are also circles. I here confess my instinctive tendency for
geometry and symmetry. Shapes are very accurate and closely connected
to chance at the same time (and chance is usually what makes life
and films go round). I don't know if the human being was created
to live in couples, but I do know that decoration usually demands
the coexistence of coupled elements. I know (and when I say know
I mean feel the need) that I must put two exactly identical pieces
of furniture at each side of the door, just as I have to hang two
exactly identical wall lamps. I know that a fireplace must have
two identical vases on it and that auxiliary tables, apart from
being indistinguishable from one another, must support lamps alike.
This is probably some kind of paranoid issue, but symmetry soothes
my soul just as asymmetry stirs it. Only some pieces are strong
enough so as to stand by themselves in space. A large center table,
for example, doesn't require another large center table next to
it, but there aren't many things as individual as that. The fireplace,
probably, or a large chest at the end of the hallway. Not many more.
However, the circles I was talking about before represent the most
accessible and less cryptic elements of the film. You know, those
I have a more immediate explanation for. The same happens with the
crystal object at Kika's, most of them brought directly from Murano
or purchased at refined Milan or Rome shops and signed by Gio
Ponti or Venini.
Circles obviously represent eyes or the objects one looks through
(be it binoculars, cameras) and also two of the main characters:
Ramon, a photographer himself, and Andrea Caracortada,
who lives just to tape tragedies with her helmet-based camera. Her
costume is a piece of art by J. P. Gaultier, who pictured
my idea of creating a woman-camera perfectly. And there's also a
voyeur, i.e. someone who sees unseen. The circle represents all
of them while, for technical reasons, the wall-integrated circular
windows helped me move around Kika's apartment. Considering the
fact that half the action takes place there, it's always interesting
to let the walls show what happens on the other side. This is the
kind of detail a director of photography will always appreciate;
the image is richer if the spaces interact and communicate with
one another, even if the couple coexisting within sets the standards
for non-communication.
Apart from fragility (a metaphor affecting Ramon especially)
and its relation with the eye, camera lenses, windows, etc. there
is one other argument that accounts by itself for such an abundant
presence of crystal objects, and it's the fact that I already owned
the objects before the shooting. I kept unconsciously purchasing
crystal objects throughout my trips because I liked them. But then
one day I realized I owned hundreds of them floor, table and wall
lamps, paperweights, ashtrays, vases, glasses, etc. I reached the
conclusion that I had become a crystal object collector without
knowing it, and the discovery annoyed me because I don't consider
myself a collector of anything and am anything but a fetishist.
So I thought that the only reason for owning so many crystal things
was to show them on a film, because I give my films everything,
my time, my health, my clothes, my furniture, my paintings…
My life's just a pretext for making movies.
COMMUNICATION
1. SOME OF THE CHARACTERS IN "KIKA"
are professionals of communication. Andrea is the director
of a TV show and Nicholas Pierce is a writer. But if by communication
we understand the information people share to walk together in life,
then this movie lacks communication.
In a time like today's, so full of messages, straight information,
illustrated statements (one could say there are no walls anymore,
no frontiers, the night's not even a difficulty now, there are lenses
that see and tape in the darkness) a time, as I say, in which we
have detailed information of everyone's tragedies, we find people
as lonely and unattended as we've never seen before. Never in the
history of the modern world there has been a greater unawareness
of the rest of the world.
2. KIKA'S WORDS.
Kika can't be more extraverted, she's all oral, a chatterbox.
But she makes little use of it, nobody understands what she says,
they either don't listen, or answer or they lie to her. She's also
a dynamic woman but gives the impression of not going anywhere.
As she confesses at the end, she needs "some guidance."
The lack of an answer, the hypocrite hiding, the non-communication
that is to mark Kika's trajectory, everything comes to light in
the first encounter with her partner-to-be, Ramon. Kika's
been requested to put makeup on him before taking him to the funeral
home. According to his stepfather, Ramon has died (later
we learn that it was just a cataleptic attack). Once the girl is
left with the corpse, it doesn't take her long to wrap him up with
words, feeling sorry for him, telling him they would have fallen
in love with each other should they had met in different circumstances.
After this, encouraged by the acquiescent silence of the corpse,
Kika goes on trusting him more aspects about her life, as if she
were with a close friend in perfect conditions (Kika thinks
she's talking to a dead body all the time and can't expect that
the contact with the liquid makeup is going to bring him back to
life).
Years later this first encounter won't do but repeat itself once
they live together and in love. She won't stop talking to him, while
Ramon will listen in silence, gagged with secret obsessions.
3. RAMON IS AFRAID
of words, be them oral or written. His story is one kneaded with
silences and looks in the dark. The first woman he looked at was
his mother, and then Kika, who represents sort of like a secondary
mother for him (she also gave him life after all) and one he can
make love with, something he probably missed with his first one.
Apart from a house in the country with a pessimistic name of Casa
Youkali (Youkali is a tango piece composed by Kurt Weill
that tells about a dream country -a country of happiness, pleasure,
shared love, etc.- to end up saying "everything's a dream,
crazy, because Youkali doesn't exist"), in her will his mother
left him a note explaining her negligence regarding him "…
pain makes you selfish because it takes everything you have..."
and the despair that pushed her towards suicide "love has humiliated
me so much that, no matter how hard I try, there are no deeper fathoms
to fall into. And I'm tired of stamping my feet, I can only dig
now, open my deepest bottom. My grave." Ramon keeps
this note with several of his mother's belongings, including her
diaries, in a chest full of drawers. A sort of altar. But he doesn't
dare to read the diaries, he lacks the courage. He's afraid of finding
something worse than the circumstances that made her mother commit
suicide. Written words locked in one of the chest's upper drawers,
as if it were a shrine.
Ramon lives with the obsession of a question. When he found
her mother dead, her eyes were still open and bright, and in the
humidity of those last tears glittered a question Ramon never had
access to, because it wasn't for him. It was for Nicholas, the last
person who saw the mother alive. This last question shall freeze
Ramon's words before they come out of his mouth.
And it happens that he is to find the answer to this question on
the TV, during the broadcast of "The Prowler."
Joseph Losey's film will reveal Ramon the secret concealed
behind his mother's suicide.
I've always liked the idea that movies, apart from entertainment,
also act as a kind of revelation for the viewers. In "Matador"
there is a part in which the protagonist lawyer runs away from the
torero chasing her and hides in a theater by chance. He follows
her inside the dark room and their entrance times with the end of
the film being projected, "Duel in the Sun": the
reciprocal murder of Jennifer Jones and Gregory Peck.
However, the lawyer and the torero watch their own end on the screen.
4. WHENEVER WE SEE the set of "Today's Worst",
it's deserted. Andrea wanders about, alone and dominant. The space
breathes some sort of gothic horror atmosphere. Even though the
show pretends to be live, the red tiers built for the spectators
are always empty. To underline the lack of audience, Andrea
matches the images of bright seats with the sound of the previously-taped
applause.
Andrea reels off her dramatic monologues before an invisible
audience, a public she hasn't been gentle enough to invite. Does
this mean that Andrea disregards her audience? Maybe, but
not more than other presenters who use it as part of the furniture,
telling them when to laugh and applaud according to the producer's
will. Andrea is a ghost that communicates directly with the
share charts only.
I've built Andrea as a dehumanized character on purpose,
the terrible metaphor of the media she represents. In fact, her
desire to take vengeance from Ramon is the only human thing
about her.
Andrea is nuts. She's gone too far, led by her fascination for psychos
and the fierce competition between reality shows. Once she leaped
from being a psychologist to presenting a reality show, her compulsive
need for having the privilege of showing the crudest images knows
no limits. She's capable of killing or dying if that's what it takes
to get those shots.
5. THE CHARACTERS IN "KIKA"
don't speak the truth when the talk, or they do it when their interlocutor
is dead or asleep (Paul also talks to her fainted sister
and to Kika when she's asleep). They either don't talk or
they talk too much.
Written words happen to be the most revealing. It is his mother's
diary what gives Ramon the key for her ending and her feelings
towards him. It's Nicholas' novels that, despite the masquerade,
happen to reveal his terrible past to Andrea, when she spends
a whole night decoding them. The first time Ramon expresses
himself with his heart, even if it's too late, is on his last note
for Kika, when it's all over. Nicholas' manuscript is the best and
last gift he can give Kika when she finds him at the point of death
next to Andrea's dead body. Dismayed, Kika asks him
for Ramon, and Nicholas tells her he's in his room
and asks her to hug him. Kika stares at him as if saying,
"I don't think this is the best moment." But Nicholas
explains: "If I have to die, I'd rather do it in a woman's
arms."
Those are Nicholas' first meant words. And last.
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PHOTOS