Few filmmakers have explored the alluring and confusing complexities of women with the same vigor as Pedro Almodovar. Through some of his finest works such as Talk To Her, All About My Mother, and Volver, Almodovar's quest for understanding has taken us to some unexpected places, but none can come close to the twisted corners unearthed by The Skin I Live In. Never one to rest on his past successes, Almodovar has put together what may be his finest film yet, a puzzling and often disturbing masterpiece that's part monster movie, part trashy romance novel.
Almodovar employs so many twists and swerves it's nearly impossible to accurately gauge the plot of any of his films, and The Skin I Live In is no different. But what separates Almodovar from a less assured filmmaker is that his stories don't rely on the plot twist, instead they fold neatly into the narrative and add context. At it's core, The Skin I Live in is the story of Robert Ledgard(Antonio Banderas), a plastic surgeon/mad scientist obsessed with his latest undertaking, a synthetic skin which protects the user from burning and damage. This is spurred mostly by the horrific memories of his beautiful wife, tragically disfigured after a car crash, ultimately taking her own life when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Ledgard is keeping this experiment of his very secret, from his friends and colleagues in the medical board. He's basically living life squirreled away from society, alone to test the skin out in any way he's sees fit without ethical or moral judgement. If it's as revolutionary as he claims it to be, why all the secrecy?
Part of the reason may be Vera(Elena Ayana), a woman who has been totally grafted with the new skin, but remains locked away in Ledgard's home. Is she a prisoner? A willing human guinea pig? Or is there something more to it? If his colleagues found out, Legard would certainly be brought up on charges. So why risk his professional career over something like this? What is really driving this mad compulsion? What is the nature of Legard's relationship with Elena? He's simultaneously compelled by her, it seems, but also a little repulsed. Elena seems to be playing all the angles, flirty when beneficial, angry and violent at the drop of a hat.
The answers aren't easily forthcoming, and the story takes some seemingly random shifts that only serve to confuse matters. There's the tiger suit wearing gangster who invades Ledgard's home, and his unusual attraction to Elena. There's the plight of Ledgard's daughter, who seems to have a more potent social awkwardness than her father. There's the guy she innocently meets at a wedding. And let's not forget Ledgard's uptight mother/housekeeper, who watches all these events unfold knowing something terrible is bound to happen. What seems like frivolous diversion wil coalesce into a realization more nausea inducing than anything you'll see in The Human Centipede. Almodovar has a sick, demented genius of a mind, and when paired up with Banderas(the first time the two have collaborated in twenty years), the two make strange, beautiful music together.
The Skin I Live In is based loosely on a Thierry Jonquet's novel, Tarantula, but it unfolds like a Hitchcock Frankenstein story, only human identity is squarely replaced by sexual identity. Take that bit of information and do with it what you will, it won't begin to clarify the mystifying, intricate web that Almodovar has woven.
