Kika

A riot of colors, Kika is sometimes sick, sometimes playful, but consistently hilarious and entertaining in ways that few films have been lately.

Beneath the predictable serving of sex, lies and, yes, videotape - as his characters betray each other in and out of bed - is a satire of tabloid trashiness that is truly withering.

Kika is kind of a mess. But it's a charming, stimulating, talented and ingratiating mess, none-the-less.

Kika, which has Almodovar's characteristic high gloss, may not be a vintage film but it's nevertheless indelibly idiosyncratic. Nobody but Pedro Almodovar could have made it.

With Almodovar, things tend to happen fast, and "Kika" is all speed and no depth.

With Almodovar's early work, it was all about extravagance with his later work such as Talk to Her and Bad Education aiming more for the intellectuals. It's a surprise, then that this film lacks both the flamboyancy of his earlier work and the depth of his latter, landing somewhere unsatisfactorily in the middle.

It's a glossified, cluttered parody of itself. Almodovar is no longer a burlesque auteur. He's a repeat offender.