Kiss of the Spider Woman

She's, um...

Well, she's...

something a little strange.

That's what you notice,

that she's not a woman

like all the others.

She seems all wrapped up in herself.

Lost...

in a world she carries

deep inside her...

but surrounded by a world of luxury.

A sumptuous boudoir.

Her bed all quilted satin.

Chiffon drapes.

From her window,

you can see the Eiffel Tower.

Suddenly, her maid brings in

a gift-wrapped box.

A token from an admirer.

She's a cabaret star of the highest rank.

She opens the box.

It's a diamond bracelet.

But she sends it back.

Men are really at her feet.

She's known a few.

But not the one

she's been waiting for all her life.

A real man.

Her maid has prepared her a foam bath.

The star takes a towel

and wraps it around her hair

like a turban.

Her fingernails painted a rosy peach,

she unfastens her taffeta nightgown

and lets it slide smoothly

down her thighs

to the tile floor.

Her skin glistens.

Her petite ankle slips

into the perfumed water.

Then her sensuous legs,

until finally her whole body

is caressed with foam.

I told you.

No erotic descriptions.

Whatever, but she's a ravishing woman.

Do you know what I mean?

I mean...

the most ravishing woman in the world.

Yeah, sure.

She really is.

Perfect figure.

Classical features.

But with these big green...

eyes.

They're black.

I'm the one who saw the movie,

but if that's what you want,

big black eyes.

Kind eyes.

Tender eyes.

But beware.

They can see...

everything.

There's nothing you can hide from them.

No matter how lonely she may be,

she keeps men... at a distance.

She's probably got bad breath

or something.

If you're going to crack jokes

about a film

that I happen to be fond of,

there's no reason to go on.

All right, all right, go ahead.

Suddenly...

we're in Paris.

Troops are marching

right underneath the Arc de Triomphe.

Really handsome soldiers,

and...

the French girls are applauding

as they pass by.

Then we are on this typical

Parisian back street.

Dead end, sort of --

sort of looking up a hill,

and these really weird-looking Frenchmen --

not the typical ones with the berets --

are unloading a truck --

It's wartime of course --

and the boxes contain contraband delicacies

like canned meat,

the best cheeses...

mm, peaches in syrup...

Don't talk about food.

Not to mention the hams and the pats.

I'm serious.

No food and no naked women.

You still feeling dizzy?

It's my back.

You've been bleeding again.

Look at your shirt.

It's all wet.

It's just sweat.

I had another fever break.

Well, what do you think so far?

Isn't it fabulous?

Helps pass the time.

Does that mean that you like it?

Doesn't help any great cause,

but I guess it's all right.

Blessed Mary, is that all

you can talk about?

You must have studied

political philosophies in school.

The phrase is "political science",

and the answer is no.

I studied journalism.

Oh, so you can appreciate a good story.

And easily spot a cheap one.

I know it's nothing terribly intellectual

like you must be used to.

It's just a... romance,

but it's so beautiful.

Now...

suddenly...

this military convoy rushes forward!

Marvelous German soldiers

catch those weird smugglers in the act

and arrest them all.

But watching nearby...

is this small truck.

With these two French thugs

from the Resistance...

who are spying on the Germans.

This hulking clubfoot

and his half-deaf flunky.

Wait a minute.

Those weird guys the Germans arrested?

Yes.

What do you mean

they didn't look French?

They didn't look French.

They looked...

um... Turkish.

I'm not sure, but they had these,

like, these caps on their heads,

like these -- like these, um...

Turkish. Fezzes.

Those caps are yarmulkes.

Can't you see this is

a f***ing anti-Semitic film?

Oh, come on!

Wait.

This must have been a German movie, right?

I don't know.

It was from years ago.

Look.

I don't explain my movies.

It just ruins the emotion.

This must have been

a Nazi propaganda film

done during the war.

I don't know.

That's just the background.

This is where the important part begins,

the part about the lovers.

It's divine.

Every night, the chic set flocks

to this exclusive club,

with lovers at every table,

spies in every corner,

and the top officers

of the German high command.

One of them is Werner.

Werner -- so distant, so divine --

and the chief of counterintelligence

for all France.

Oh, and Michelle,

with her angel face,

the cigarette girl

who really is working for, the --

Well, you'll see.

And then...

The moment they're all waiting for...

Da da!

Stepping into the spotlight

is that legendary star,

that ravishing chanteuse,

Leni...

Lamaison.

Yes?

Yakov and Naveed were arrested.

Did you get the map?

No. There was no time.

Just get it.

Nothing else matters.

Vive la France!

Werner's eyes begin to burn into her soul.

Eyes like the claws of an eagle.

Inescapable.

What are you laughing at?

Well, it must be something.

At you.

And me.

What's going on?

Quiet!

They're bringing someone new.

What time is it anyway?

He's really bleeding.

Is it a political prisoner?

They don't treat you like that

for stealing bananas.

Mm. You know him?

Come on. Go.

Your name?

Hey! You!

And your name?

Luis Molina.

Valentin Arregui.

Do you want to shave?

Well, I didn't mean your legs.

What is the matter?

I don't understand why they stopped

my interrogation.

It's been almost a week.

Why couldn't they give me

that handsome leading blond man here

to keep me company, instead of you?

What the hell are you talking about?

Are you afraid to talk about sex?

You really want to know, Molina?

I find you boring.

Darling, you don't know page one.

You know I'm a f*ggot.

Well, congratulations.

You know I corrupted a minor.

Well, that's even on TV,

film at 11:
00.

You really like those Nazi blonds,

don't you?

Well, no, you see,

I detest politics,

but I'm mad about the leading man.

He's so romantic.

Should I be shot for that?

Your Nazis are about as romantic

as the f***ing warden

and his torture room.

I can imagine.

No.

You can't.

You can't sleep?

You mind if I tell my picture?

After the show...

Leni changes into a satin evening gown

that makes her look heavenly.

Firm breasts...

thin waist...

smooth hips...

Is this propaganda or porno?

Just listen.

You'll see.

Excuse me.

Leni.

What is it, Michelle?

Leni...

I'm a traitor.

A traitor to France.

What do you mean?

I'm going to have a baby.

But the father,

he's a young lieutenant

of the occupation army.

Is that so?

My poor Michelle.

But he loves me

and wants to get married --

as soon as he can get permission.

I really can't understand.

How could you fall in love

with an enemy of our France?

Love has no country, Leni.

But there's something else

you don't know.

Leni, dear...

I'm working for the resist--

Come in!

For you, madame.

How can you remember all this crap?

You must be making it up.

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