Manon Clavel has the kind of interesting face that never loses audience interest. Freckled, empathetic, playful, constantly thinking, she is the perfect canvas for Alexe Poukine’s fiction debut Kika (2025), a remarkably nuanced depiction of grief and femdom that uses the extremities of sexual expression as a metaphor for processing pain. Naturalistic and empathetic, this breakout tragi-comedy is a touching — and revealing (in more ways than one) — exploration of the infinite nuances of the human condition.
She stars as the eponymous Kika, a social worker on her way to repair her daughter’s bike one day when she ends up stuck in a bike shop with the handsome and kind owner David (Makita Samba). Despite being married to and having a kid with another man, she is hit by a thunderbolt. She knows that she will have to sleep with him, but is terrified of the consequences, potentially pulling her life apart forever.
These early scenes are shot with a quiet urgency, the editing brisk and crisp as the film marches through the set-up to a much different story. One particular cut I loved was when she goes to confess her infidelity to her husband, only for the camera to cut on Clavel’s face — we know what is going to happen next. More surprising is the variety of unfortunate circumstances that force Kika to start selling her used panties, before, slowly but surely, moving into the world of sex work, and more specifically, becoming a dominatrix.
From pegging to scat to diaper fetishes, there feels like there is nothing off limits here. There are certain scenes that make for uncomfortable viewing, but never exist simply for the sake of provocation, but as a way of exploring Kika’s complicated inner journey.
Sexual fetishes are a constant source of fascination because they get into the very root of what it means to be a human individual. Why does something that may repulse one person become a massive turn-on for another? Sometimes it can be totally random. At others, it can be a very specific response to a very specific childhood memory or trauma. Judgement can come easily. Understanding is a whole other kettle of fish.
An obvious precedent might be Peter Strickland’s lesbian love story The Duke of Burgundy (2014), which, on the surface, looked like a titillating, gorgeously-shot slice of eroticism, but ended up being a heartfelt examination of all the different compromises that characterise a relationship. And while Kika is less aesthetically-charged than Strickland’s work, it is as sincere in its exploration of how sexual fetishes act as a correlative for human expression. It is all held together by Clavel’s constantly searching, yearning performance, as well as the empathy that Poukine holds for the johns, all of whom have their own reasons for seeking out her services.
What’s remarkable is how all of these scenes and development play out in a totally naturalistic filmmaking and storytelling setting. The camerawork and mise-en-scène, while not ordinary, are completely unflashy, doing only what’s needed to enhance the scene, while the screenplay, often flitting between comic moments and powerful dramatic beats, never feels like it’s giving you a lecture on alternative lifestyles either. This careful balancing act makes Kika a special kind of work; a deep dive into perversion that crackles with life and heart.
Redmond is the editor-in-chief of Journey Into Cinema.