ART FILM OF THE WEEK
Dark tale not for the thin-skinned
TWISTED, meticulously designed and melodramatic as only a Pedro Almodóvar movie can be, The Skin I Live In is not a normal story by any stretch of the imagination, but the way it is made is still very straightforward as his work goes.
This would make it commercially accessible, if it didn’t go down such a bizarre little side road straight into what is best described as “arthouse ick”.
Almodóvar usually displays a delightful sense of romance and quirk and uses strong female lead characters who know what they want and make the best of whatever life throws at them.
This is a disquieting look at gender identity and our preconceptions around the concept of personal identity. All of this heady stuff is couched in the film vocabulary of a horror story, made all the more horrific for taking place behind the walls of a beautiful house.
Robert Ledgard (Banderas) is a brilliant plastic surgeon who is a good-looking advert for a healthy lifestyle, but behind his seemingly normal facade is a strange tale.
The story is creepy but it sucks you in with the gorgeously detailed visuals. But, strangely, it isn’t as emotionally engaging as many of Almodóvar’s other films and this is because of the lead character.
Banderas is totally in control, creating a cold, distant creature with a God-complex. Ledgard could have it all, and he has so much, but he is emotionally unavailable.
Haunted by the death of his wife in a car crash Ledgard experiments with creating an indestructible skin and after 12 years he seems to have succeeded. To experiment with impunity he needed a fluid sense of morality, a willing accomplice and a guinea pig.
His loyal housekeeper Marilla (Paredes) is a life-long ally who keeps all his secrets and Robert doesn’t have any scruples. But just where did the guinea pig come from?
Vera Cruz (Anaya), the young, not so stable woman living in his house, has a background which Almodóvar explores in flashbacks