The Skin I Live In (La piel que habito), dir. Pedro Almodóvar (2011) Review
I have an extremely addictive personality. Of course, I have been like this my entire life and there is nothing I can do about it, but I must admit that it definitely has its perks: when I like something, I am passionate about it to an extent I can’t even begin to describe. Over the years, this mainly translated into a ridiculous amount of trivia that is pretty much useless outside a party, but it is also what has made me enthusiastic enough about certain things to make a career out of it. Writing about books and movies is one of those things.
When I discovered horror movies, I decided I would watch every single horror movie ever made—and before you say it, yes, I know: that is the single stupidest statement anyone could possibly say. What I didn’t know back then, though, was that horror as a genre can wear many different masks, and the line that separates one genre from another can sometimes be extremely thin—if there is any separation at all, to begin with. I guess it all depends on the eye of the beholder, or the arguments behind your reasoning. Even with this in mind, I wasn’t expecting to find one of my all-time favourite horror movies under Pedro Almodóvar’s name and, though I could’ve probably picked a thousand other movies to talk about, there are not many contemporary European movies that depict so well what is it that fascinates me so much about the genre.
Pedro Almodóvar is one of Spain’s most renowned filmmakers and screenwriters. As much as Hollywood is clearly smitten with him, as his two Academy Awards can prove, the fact that most of his movies deal with topics so quintessentially Spanish can explain why he is not as popular outside his home country as he should probably be. A prominent figure in La Movida Madrileña, a cultural movement that took place in the country after the death of dictator Francisco Franco, Almodóvar wrote and directed movies that dealt with LGBTQ+ characters and sexual and political freedom in rather traditional settings, mixing dark comedy and romance in such a characteristic way that made him earn a legion of adepts. For those of you who’ve never heard of Almodóvar, I encourage you to watch the two movies that made him a legend: the 1999 drama All About My Mother, that earned him his first Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Movie, and Talk to Her (2002), that earned him yet another Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay.
But as much as I wouldn’t mind spending hours and hours telling you about all of my favourite Almodóvar movies, today I wanted to tell you about the amazing singularity in Almodóvar’s trajectory that is the psychological thriller The Skin I Live In (2011)—which, if you allow me, is hands down my favourite Almodóvar movie, even if this statement will definitely raise some eyebrows.
Almodóvar himself described The Skin I Live in as "a horror story without screams or frights", which could also describe Tarantula, the novel by French writer Thierry Jonquet that the director used for the script of the movie—though they differ in a few aspects. The story introduces us to Dr. Robert Ledgard—played by an incredibly over the top Antonio Banderas that somehow fits in the whole vibe of the movie like a glove—, an eminent plastic surgeon that develops a new type of artificial skin that could potentially protect whoever owns it like a real shield, while still allowing the feel of a warm touch. We learn that the reason behind his research is his wife, who was severely burned in a car crash a few years back. However, he is still in need to test this new skin, and for that he will need to do the unthinkable. We get to know soon enough that Dr. Ledgard has no scruples, but he has the means and the accomplices to get what he wants. I don’t want to give out much of the plot since I believe this is definitely a movie that will surprise you and I don’t want to ruin the fun of it, but trust me when I tell you that this introduction is not even the tip of the iceberg.
My favourite thing about the movie? The endless references. From Les Yeux Sans Visage—Eyes Without a Face in English, a 1960 French cult classic directed by Georges Franju—to Hitchcock’s Vertigo and a little bit of that very same Cronenberg who gave us movies such as Dead Ringers and Videodrome… The list goes on and on. Personally, I would say that the movie that inspired The Skin I Live In the most is the psychological horror classic The Collector (1965), by William Wyler. For those of you who are actually familiar with Almodóvar’s films, this movie is also an interesting study of his own work—especially, Carne Trémula (Live Flesh, from 1997). However, I think it is not fair that I talk about the best things in this movie without mentioning how incredible Elena Anaya’s performance is. Not only does she play the most important role in the entire movie next to Antonio Banderas, but there are times where she definitely carries the weight of the entire thing on her shoulders, even when the movie itself demands its characters to be as ridiculous and exaggerated as possible—if you are looking for credible characters and realistic performance, this will probably not be your cup of tea.
Still showing some signs of that Spanish tradition that made him a name in the scene, The Skin I Live In is perhaps the most refined attempt of the director to create a prototypically European movie. However, this is far from Almodóvar showing us what he is capable of: this is an example of what a director can do when he is allowed to do whatever he wants. Even then, the anguished atmosphere and the psychological fear are still very present and very real, as well as the amazing photography, music and some of the best close-ups Almodóvar has ever shot.
It is rather complicated to talk about Almodóvar to someone who has never seen an Almodóvar movie. At the same time, it is very complicated to talk about Almodóvar as a horror genius to someone who has never seen The Skin I Live In. Whether you belong to the first group, the second one or neither of them, I strongly believe that this is a movie you need to experience. Take this from a very bitter Spaniard who used to think Spanish movies lacked creativity. Almodóvar made me unable to say that ever again—and Guillermo del Toro and J. A. Bayona, but that is another story for another day. Couldn’t be more grateful.
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