Review of Pedro Almodovar's “The Skin I Live in”

Wonderful Pedro Almodovar! For thirty years, his movies have been fun, lively, challenging, and scintillating. He gives us great stories that are visually creative and psychologically dense, vivid glimpses of Spanish contemporary life, continuing curiosity about motherly love and womanhood, a long and complex exploration of gender and sexuality—and always lots of gorgeous gals. In his latest amazing and disquieting tour-de-force, The Skin I Live In, Almodovar gives us not only a gothic romp in S & M fantasyland but also a serious exploration of fetishism and the nature of sexual, social, and personal identity. Probably you'll have to see this movie on Netflix—and I recommend that you do—because its dark violence and high “ick factor” make for poor fare at the local cineplex. The film disappeared from mine after only a week.

The Skin I Live In draws from three cultural genres all entwined with each other: the mad-scientist-playing-God Frankenstein story, the revenge saga, and the prisoner of sex porno tradition a la de Sade and “The Story of O.” Then, the film gives us the alluring woman Vera (Elena Anaya), beyond beautiful in weird, skin-like body stockings, two different kinds of

mothers, an opulent house filled with crazy occupants and splendid sexual art, a rapist in a tiger costume, and many luxury cars, beautiful clothes, and cool jazz. In other words, it's a cornucopia of Almodovar that is, at times, a somewhat-confusing embarrassment of riches. I would add that the film also spins a really smart psychological yarn about trauma, dissociation, and the stability of healthy identity.

Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) is a noted plastic surgeon who loses his wife three times—to infidelity, catastrophic burns, and then suicide—and later loses his daughter twice—to insanity and suicide. Too many traumatic losses cause him to lose his mind and self as well. Banderas plays Ledgard with a controlled and icy coldness