The Spider Woman's Gift: How Bill Condon's "Kiss" Fulfilled What Chita Rivera Promised a Young Queer Boy

Tonatiuh and Diego Luna in Kiss Of The Spiderwoman 2025

I was a young Black gay Puerto Rican boy at Boston Conservatory when a new musical called Kiss of the Spider Woman changed everything. The icon Chita Rivera starred in it, and when I watched her dance, sing, and kick her leg to the heavens at the Tony Awards, something ignited in me. Just like the character Molina does in the story, I wanted to be her. I was obsessed.

You'd think I'd say West Side Story was my entry point into Chita's genius. Nope. It was Sweet Charity—the movie, boo. Her, Paula Kelly, and Shirley MacLaine were everything to me. EVERYTHING. Especially Paula and Chita. They weren't just performing—they were testifying. They had that thing behind the eyes, that magical spark you can't teach, that Fosse thing his protégés carry like a sacred inheritance. I trained myself to imitate it every time I stepped on stage.

My anxious gay freshman self scraped together money for a bus ticket to see Kiss of the Spider Woman live. Seeing Chita in person was extraordinary. There's a quality she possesses that transcends technique—a brilliance that lives in the space between breath and movement, between truth and performance. After the show, I went to the stage door alone. Chita emerged with some gay dancers, laughing loudly, living fully. She saw me standing there nervous as hell and said something like, "Hey you, what are you doing here?" I don't quite remember her exact words. What I remember is stuttering, telling her she was the best thing I'd ever seen on a stage. She hugged me, signed my autograph, and chatted with me like I mattered.

That moment changed my life.

Now I'm a grown-ass man. I've lived some of my Broadway dreams. And full circle, I got to see Kiss of the Spider Woman again—this time Bill Condon's film adaptation. Boo, I was not disappointed. This was everything.

The story felt more focused, more clear than the Broadway version. The actors told this story with an urgency that's needed today. LATINOS—not white actors playing these roles. LATINOS. Representation matters. The story felt more authentic, more beautiful, more inspired because of it. Bill Condon worked wonders writing and directing this script.

Right now, with the orange man as president of the United States, with trans rights and gay rights under siege, with ICE and military forces tearing families apart, with the world feeling dark enough to make you scream—Kiss of the Spider Woman arrived exactly when we needed it.

Diego Luna was the grounding force that gagged me. His performance as Valentín was real, vulnerable, lived-in. This man is talented as fuck. I dropped into his truth the moment he spoke. It was wonderful to watch Tonatiuh bring honesty to Molina—maybe theatrical at times, but it worked for the character. They were beautiful and I'm excited for Tonatiuh's career.

Jennifer Lopez—J.Lo, Jenny from the block—wasn't Chita. Not a dig, because chyle, who is? But she found her own way into Aurora, and it was superb. That woman can dance, and she is stunning. She moved through spaces like the movie star she is, and I was impressed. I was sold. She was the moment and I was happy for her.

I'm trying not to spoil the film, so I'm leaving a ton out. I have more to say, but you need to run and see it. It's worth every penny. I can't wait to see this piece of art again. The ending wrecked me in my core—a different ending than Broadway, but exactly what I needed. I couldn't move from my seat.

Here's what Kiss of the Spider Woman reminded me: that young Black gay Puerto Rican boy standing at the stage door, desperate to touch magic—he's still in me. The way Chita looked at me that night, like I was worth her time, like my dreams mattered—that's the same way this film looks at its audience. It says: your queerness matters, your truth matters, your freedom matters, your life matters.

Molina teaches us that imagination is resistance. That beauty in the face of brutality is rebellion. That loving fiercely, even when the world tells you your love is wrong, is the most revolutionary act possible.

I thought I was going to see a movie. Instead, I got handed back a piece of my younger self—that boy who believed that art could save him, that representation could heal him, that seeing himself reflected on stage could make him whole.

Chita promised me magic that night at the stage door. This film delivered on that promise.