Jennifer Lopez steps into the world of fantasy and forbidden desire in Bill Condon’s Kiss of the Spider Woman, a bold, sensual reimagining of the classic Kander and Ebb musical. It’s a film that doesn’t just tell a story — it seduces you into one, blurring the line between glamour and grit, between fantasy and the unbearable beauty of being seen.
At its heart, this is not Lopez’s movie — though she burns through every frame like a meteor — but Tonatiuh’s. As Luis Molina, a queer man imprisoned in 1980s Argentina for “public indecency,” Tonatiuh delivers the kind of breakout performance that comes once a decade. His Molina isn’t a caricature of camp or tragedy, but a man who uses imagination as resistance — dreaming of the movies, of love, of Lopez’s fictional screen siren Ingrid Luna — to survive a world that refuses to see him as human.
Molina’s cellmate, Valentin (Diego Luna), is his opposite: a hardened revolutionary jailed for political rebellion. Their bond begins in discomfort, grows in defiance, and ends in something that resembles redemption. Condon captures their evolving intimacy — a slow burn of suspicion, tenderness, and eventual love — with a delicacy rarely seen in mainstream cinema. When their fingers touch in the dim light of a filthy cell, it feels more daring than any of Lopez’s glittering musical numbers.
And yet, Lopez is extraordinary. As Ingrid Luna, she embodies the fantasy that keeps Molina alive — a star from another realm, impossibly luminous and unreachable. Her musical numbers, filmed in sweeping, full-body frames that recall the golden age of MGM musicals, are pure escapism. She doesn’t just perform; she floats, she teases, she mesmerizes. There’s a divine irony in seeing Lopez, one of the most famous women in the world, play the fantasy of a man who’s never been allowed to live freely — and it works. Her performance isn’t about disappearing into a character but about becoming a mirror for the film’s deeper truth: that queer imagination can turn oppression into art.
Condon, the openly gay director behind Dreamgirls and Gods and Monsters, handles this story with reverence. He leans into its contradictions — the lush fantasy sequences drenched in pinks and golds, the stark brutality of prison life rendered in sickly grays. He knows that for Molina, these movie moments aren’t mere escapism; they’re survival. Each song, even when not musically striking, feels like a desperate prayer — a reminder that imagination can be as radical as revolution.
Tonatiuh and Luna’s chemistry is fragile and profound. Their love story isn’t built on traditional romance but mutual recognition: two men stripped of power, clinging to connection in a world that criminalizes both their desires and their dreams. When they finally give in to passion, the moment is awkward, real, and full of yearning — a reminder that love doesn’t need to be polished to be powerful. Their tenderness in the face of violence, their care in moments of humiliation and sickness, give Kiss of the Spider Woman its heart. It’s not a movie about suffering; it’s about survival through intimacy.
Production designer Scott Chambliss creates a world that mirrors Molina’s mind: prison walls that close in like a coffin, contrasted with fantasy sets bursting with color and light. The costumes are campy and expressive — Lopez’s Spider Woman persona, with her raven wig and glittering corsets, feels both divine and dangerous. The film may wobble at times, especially when moving between fantasy and realism, but its sincerity redeems it.
Yes, Kiss of the Spider Woman is imperfect. Some musical numbers feel overproduced, and a few emotional beats rush by too quickly. But its imperfections are part of its charm — messy, raw, and alive, much like the queer imagination it celebrates. Condon doesn’t sanitize his story for straight audiences; he lets it be tender, erotic, and strange.
In an era where Hollywood still hesitates to tell unapologetically queer stories, Kiss of the Spider Woman feels like a rare, glittering act of faith. It’s a film about the healing power of fantasy, about how gay men have always rewritten the world through beauty when reality refused to offer them one.
Jennifer Lopez may play a dream, but Tonatiuh’s Molina reminds us why we need them. His performance — fierce, funny, heartbreaking — grounds the film in emotional truth. Together, they create something unexpectedly moving: a love story between a man and his fantasy, between a dreamer and the diva who makes him believe in life again.
Grade: C+ — Imperfect but passionate. A radiant, deeply queer fable about survival, love, and the power of imagination to set us free.
Rob Shuter is a celebrity journalist, talk-show host, and former publicist who has represented stars including Jennifer Lopez, Alicia Keys, Kate Spade, Diddy, Jon Bon Jovi, Tyra Banks, Naomi Campbell, Jessica Simpson, and HRH Princess Michael of Kent. He is the author of The 4 Word Answer, a bestselling self-help book blending Hollywood stories with personal breakthroughs. Rob hosts Naughty But Nice with Rob, a top 20 iTunes podcast, and was the only entertainment columnist at The Huffington Post. A veteran of PR and magazines, he also helmed OK! Magazine. Read his latest exclusives at robshuter.substack.com