Image courtesy of Sony Pictures ClassicSpanish director Pedro Almodóvar first introduced the world to actor Antonio Banderas in his 1982 film, Labyrinth of Passion. They continued to work together throughout the 80s, the last of which was Almodóvar’s critically acclaimed 1990 release, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! Twenty-one years later, the two cinematic icons are once again reuniting in the cult auteur’s latest film, The Skin I Live In (El Piel Que Habito) wherein Banderas portrays an updated version of a mad scientist who likes to play God.
Twelve years after his wife was horribly burned in a car accident, Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) successfully develops a new type of human skin that is sensitive to touch, yet cannot burn. The doctor achieved this medical breakthrough by using the controversial means of “transgenesis,” combining human DNA with animal DNA. He continues down the road of non-ethical behavior and acquires his own human guinea pig, Vera (Elena Anaya) to test his new fire-resistant skin.
Assisting Robert with these twisted experimentations at his lavish Toledo estate is Robert’s faithful accomplice Marilia (Marisa Paredes), the woman who has taken care of the Robert his entire life. Before long, Marilia own secrets come back to haunt her via her criminal son Zeca (Roberto Álamo), a criminal on the lam whose sudden reappearance starts a series of flashbacks involving Robert’s daughter Norma (Blanca Suárez) and her fateful encounter with Vicente (Jan Cornet), a young man she met at a party.
To reveal any more of the plot would give too much of it away. Once the flashbacks kick in, critical elements of the story slowly fall into place, cumulating in a shocking realization of misplaced identity. Until then, however, the film keeps the viewer at a cold, calculated distance, never really drawing you fully into the diegesis of this mad scientist playing God. By the time it’s over, Skin almost plays out like an extended version of Nip/Tuck written by a slow moving, watered-down Alfred Hitchcock.
Even though Skin is based on the Kafkaesque novel Mygale (Tarantula in English) by French author Thierry Jonquet, and is more than slightly reminiscent of Franju’s 1960 film, Eyes Without a Face, Almodóvar’s standard motifs of anxiety, betrayal, sexual identity, and death are still present. Unfortunately, Almodóvar has sterilized Jonquet’s novel to the point where very little emotion is left for the audience to evoke. Every major decision Robert makes in Skin is emotionally based; yet, because we’re kept visually distant, it’s difficult to discern.
Another issue is the slow pacing of the film’s narrative, especially the first act. From the beginning, we can tell that something’s off about Robert and his relationship with Vera by the way he keeps her locked up like a prisoner. The information necessary for the audience’s ability to piece together the real horror lies within revelations made within the flashback sequences. Unfortunately, the first flashback doesn’t even occur until Skin is well into its second act.
Overall, Pedro Almodóvar has brought to life onscreen one hell of a twisted story with his latest film, The Skin I Live In. Cinematographer José Luis Alcaine’s visually stunning bird’s eye shots only add to the stark beauty of this horror story. Granted, the story may be a little slow-moving at the start, but as long as you’re willing to stick with this sterilized examination of a mad scientist at work, the climactic revelation of learning what happened to Vicente is worth it.
© Left From Hollywood
Twelve years after his wife was horribly burned in a car accident, Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) successfully develops a new type of human skin that is sensitive to touch, yet cannot burn. The doctor achieved this medical breakthrough by using the controversial means of “transgenesis,” combining human DNA with animal DNA. He continues down the road of non-ethical behavior and acquires his own human guinea pig, Vera (Elena Anaya) to test his new fire-resistant skin.
Assisting Robert with these twisted experimentations at his lavish Toledo estate is Robert’s faithful accomplice Marilia (Marisa Paredes), the woman who has taken care of the Robert his entire life. Before long, Marilia own secrets come back to haunt her via her criminal son Zeca (Roberto Álamo), a criminal on the lam whose sudden reappearance starts a series of flashbacks involving Robert’s daughter Norma (Blanca Suárez) and her fateful encounter with Vicente (Jan Cornet), a young man she met at a party.
To reveal any more of the plot would give too much of it away. Once the flashbacks kick in, critical elements of the story slowly fall into place, cumulating in a shocking realization of misplaced identity. Until then, however, the film keeps the viewer at a cold, calculated distance, never really drawing you fully into the diegesis of this mad scientist playing God. By the time it’s over, Skin almost plays out like an extended version of Nip/Tuck written by a slow moving, watered-down Alfred Hitchcock.
Even though Skin is based on the Kafkaesque novel Mygale (Tarantula in English) by French author Thierry Jonquet, and is more than slightly reminiscent of Franju’s 1960 film, Eyes Without a Face, Almodóvar’s standard motifs of anxiety, betrayal, sexual identity, and death are still present. Unfortunately, Almodóvar has sterilized Jonquet’s novel to the point where very little emotion is left for the audience to evoke. Every major decision Robert makes in Skin is emotionally based; yet, because we’re kept visually distant, it’s difficult to discern.
Another issue is the slow pacing of the film’s narrative, especially the first act. From the beginning, we can tell that something’s off about Robert and his relationship with Vera by the way he keeps her locked up like a prisoner. The information necessary for the audience’s ability to piece together the real horror lies within revelations made within the flashback sequences. Unfortunately, the first flashback doesn’t even occur until Skin is well into its second act.
Overall, Pedro Almodóvar has brought to life onscreen one hell of a twisted story with his latest film, The Skin I Live In. Cinematographer José Luis Alcaine’s visually stunning bird’s eye shots only add to the stark beauty of this horror story. Granted, the story may be a little slow-moving at the start, but as long as you’re willing to stick with this sterilized examination of a mad scientist at work, the climactic revelation of learning what happened to Vicente is worth it.
© Left From Hollywood
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