Written by Varisa Sirisook
In 1976, Manuel Puig published Kiss of the Spider Woman. Under the dictatorship established by Jorge Rafael Videla, the novel was banned in Puig’s native Argentina until the end of military rule in 1983. Nearly half a century and numerous adaptations later, writer-director Bill Condon returned Puig’s most successful story to the silver screen, drawing on the 1992 Kander and Ebb musical to craft a genre-bending spectacle.
The 2025 film follows Luis Molina (Tonatiuh), a window dresser convicted of public indecency, as she retells her favourite movie to her revolutionary cellmate Valentín Arregui (Diego Luna) during the military junta’s “Dirty War”. Jennifer Lopez stars as Aurora, the leading lady of the film-within-a-film, whose dazzling song-and-dance sequences contrast the escapism of a Golden Age musical with the brutality of prison. Tonatiuh’s fantastic breakout performance as Molina weaves deftly between pride and vulnerability opposite Diego Luna’s Valentín, who delivers a moving transformation from belligerence to tenderness.
The friction between the two and their clashing outlooks warms into an unexpected bond as they challenge one another’s biases and their own contradictions. Valentín initially judges Molina’s femininity against reductive theories of gender and sexuality, before accepting her and finding safety in her compassion to unlearn the stoicism and aggression expected of men. At the same time, Molina’s dismissal of politics shifts as Valentín insists upon equality and her inherent worth, allowing her to strive for more beyond patriarchal validation as a closeted transgender woman, and motivating her decision to aid the resistance. Their ways of caring, while imperfect, make room for each other’s personhood and dignity in an environment that strips them of both, the prison itself a tool and microcosm of the authoritarian state.
The film provides a fresh take on the novel. While the film-within-a-film leaves less time to develop Molina and Valentín’s relationship and the ideas introduced in their conversations, it becomes a vehicle for Molina’s inner world. Even when not telling Aurora’s story, the imaginary Hollywood set lets Molina express parts of herself, from shielding herself through ignorance and yearning for love to her identity as a woman. Although implied in the novel, the 2025 adaptation is the first to articulate this, a timely decision amid rising anti-trans discrimination in recent years, and especially in the United States where this film was made. The story’s queer elements contribute to its exploration of human connection, and the power it holds in the face of authoritarian repression.
Puig began writing his novel amid Isabel Perón’s mounting persecution of leftists and published it the same year Videla overthrew her government. Conversely, the film takes place during the dictatorship’s final year and ends with Valentín walking free, raising Molina’s scarf like a flag. Although this scene brings a bittersweet closure to the characters’ relationship, the hopeful reminder that terror can end does not mean it will end without resistance. A regime does not fall by itself, and we must work to build the world that follows however we can.
