The transformation of the physical appearance and the obsession it can bring is a subject which has long fascinated and influenced cinema with films as diverse as Vertigo to Face Off. The latest film to rear its modified head on this matter is Pedro Almodovar’s The Skin I Live In, a heady concoction of genres spliced together to create a repellent yet intoxicating mix of drama/horror/science fiction/suspense and dare I say it, romance.
The Skin I Live In begins with an opening shot of a Spanish town, where we are then whisked to a vast residence with a secured gated fence and long driveway, leading to the ominous dwelling. We see that there is a woman, dressed in a skin like leotard, who appears to be a kept prisoner; she is given food through a dummy waiter by the housekeeper, her fluids tampered with some form of drug. It later transpires that the house belongs to a brilliant but wholly unorthodox surgeon Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) who is keeping the woman named Vera (Elena Anaya) as a human guinea pig who he is using to test a new hybrid form of skin, resilient to burns, scars and bites. But the reasons for Vera’s imprisonment are as tightly enclosed as the doors of the mansion that hold her, until an encounter with a stranger, clad in a tiger suit (which even though is explained, is still comically disturbing) blows apart their transmuted environment and the secrets of Robert and Vera’s pasts are revealed in dream induced flashbacks.
To give anymore away would ruin the dark delights of the film, one with many interweaving, contorting plot twists that seem somewhat ludicrous but entirely absorbing. This is attributed to the skill and flair with which Pedro Almodovar directs with his eye for creating arresting, bold imagery and the expertly paced construction of the narrative. He is a director who knows how to compose a film full of daring, risque concepts and will not, and thankfully does not have to, compromise his vision. And there is some risque material to contend with. The assault on Vera carried out by the intruding tiger is deeply distressing but crucial to the story and the shift of power in the house is readdressed. After the vicious attack Robert lets Vera stay in his room, letting down the barriers physically and emotionally, thus causing tension between Vera and Marilia (Marisa Paredes) the housekeeper, who guards Robert like a loyal yet vicious dog, ready to attack for her master.
We then discover the reasons behind the captive Vera and the enigmatic Robert which takes the film in a new direction of melodramatic and horrifying revelations that leads to climatic repercussions. Antonio Banderas showcases acting depths that are rarely tapped in his Hollywood outings, he is a brooding, controlling presence, consumed by the need to avenge past sins, even if these needs drive him to the edge of moral ambiguity, a place he cannot come back from and can only lead to despair. Elena Anaya creates in Vera a beguiling screen presence, her beauty so luminous that she looks like she has been created in a lab, it a fearless performance, every inch of her sculptured body is used to be taken advantage of and to take the advantage herself, behind the fragility is a steely determination for survival. But this is Pedro’s show, in lesser hands the film would have been the fodder of B movie trash or torture porn manipulation but the director is so astutely aware of his material and his mature, visual creativity, that The Skin I Live In becomes a devious, delicious, audacious thriller. The director has described the film as ‘a horror story without screams or frights’ which it readily embraces, the idea of body mutation is one rooted in the realms of psychological horror. The film also bares close comparisons with the 1960 horror Eyes without a Face (directed by Georges Franju) in which a mad scientist consumed with guilt tries to reconstruct his daughter’s severely scarred face by kidnapping young women to use their features for reconstructive surgery. Both feature men drawn to the brink of insanity by grief and longing for their loved ones, there is almost a compassion for these lonely figures, no matter how monstrous and twisted they become.
The Skin I Live In will no doubt confound many viewers, it is an experience that will leave you disorientated upon leaving the cinema, a feeling that may be too much for some but if you let yourself give in to the film, Almodovar will take you on a bewitching journey of revenge and psycho-sexual obsession that will literally get under your skin and stay there for days to come.
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