Review: ‘The Skin I Live In’

1. I don't know what to make of Pedro Almodovar's newest film, "The Skin I Live In," but there's nothing new about that. Of all the truly talented filmmakers who make films that are unmistakably theirs in every frame -- and Almodovar is without question one of those -- his are the ones that leave me goggled and cold. That's a bizarre and kind of stupid reaction: If there's a word least apt to describe Almodovar's films, it's "cold." (OK, maybe "fax-machine-like." Almodovar's films are nothing like a fax machine.) But I have it nevertheless. I find myself eating up every second of his films, frequently in awe of how they seem to erupt, fully formed, from his brain. That is what art is -- a completely unfiltered and perfect formation of someone's intent, for an audience to observe and interact with -- and I'm amazed how consistently surprising Almodovar's creations are. But -- and I'm aware this is very likely my problem, and not Almodovar's, at least not within the director-audience construct -- I think that brain might just be a little too crazy for me.

2. There's often talk about what Almodovar's films are about, collectively, as if they were somehow one huge serialized novel. I think it's more that it's whatever on his mind that particular second, and ongoing themes are simply things that Almodovar deeply cares about, the way that you might care about, say, woodworking, or your dog, or socialism. As far as I can tell, Almodovar's films are about Almodovar's obsessions, namely sexuality in all its forms, overbearing parental figures (mostly, but not exclusively, matriarchal), elaborate, super-over-the-top set decoration, lunatic melodrama plot turns (that are less twists than geological events) and one's sense of dislocation and desire to find one's true self. He basically blends these together -- I imagine Almodovar's blender to be violent, vividly colorful and possessing of a beautiful singing voice -- and out comes a ravishing work of art. It's incredible that he can do this. I hope he does it forever. That doesn't make it any easier for me to connect to it.

3. "The Skin I Live In" has what probably as close to a "conventional" concept as anything Almodovar does, which is to say it's still pretty whacked. Antonio Banderas, in honestly the most enjoyable, controlled performance I've seen him give in about 20 years, plays Robert Ledgard, a world-famous skin surgeon who ... actually, that's about the only part that's conventional. (Still, it's a start!) Robert (deep breath) .... (here goes) ... lost his wife in a car accident caused by a man she was having an affair with who is also his half-brother even though he doesn't know it and has decided to keep a woman captive and give her skin that makes her look like his ex-wife and then we flash back and meet his daughter who is mostly crazy and also wanders into a garden party that turns into an orgy and then there's a guy who works in a dress shop and he takes too many drugs and man I am so lost and I'm the one writing this. Point is, there is a brief second in which this vaguely resembles any non-Almodovar movie you've ever seen, and I breathed in that second like a man trapped underwater finding one little corner where there is air. A gorgeous, exciting underwater trap, but a trap nevertheless.

4. Almodovar is comfortable with scenes that I will confess to not being so comfortable with. I dunno: Am I supposed to watch a rape scene and not be repulsed for a good half hour plus of screen time afterward? Because I kind of was. And why, in the pivotal scene of the film, are peripheral characters suddenly all having an explicit orgy? Why is there a bad guy suddenly wearing a tiger costume? (Almodovar does at least get around to explaining the tiger costume.) There's just a lot going on, that's all. This is nothing new for Almodovar, and I'm sure he has his reasons. And if you get on the movie's wavelength, there's really some powerful notions in here, particularly the idea of attempting to overcome tragedy and pain by recreating the circumstances that led to the pain and doing it right this time. Almodovar takes a circular route to that point, of course, but it's still a fun circle. What's not so strong is Almodovar's main character's lust for revenge. Revenge isn't an emotion I suspect notches all that high among Almodovar's obsessions; it's the one part that feels like he's sort of faking it. Fortunately, he has Banderas' muscular performance to guide him along; Banderas gets revenge, even if his director doesn't.

5. This is still a lush, deeply pleasurable film to experience on a sensory level; Almodovar couldn't produce a boring frame if he left the lens cap on. And there are some smart, well-constructed scenes later in the film, when Robert has taken a captive and that captive is trying to figure out why he/she's here exactly, and what he/she is in for. But "what he/she is in for" is just a little too disconnected from reality -- or at least reality as I have always known and understood it -- for me to give myself over entirely to it. The two Almodovar films that do that for me are "Live Flesh" and "Talk To Her." I just need a few little reminders of the world as we walk around in it to drive me through Almodovar's flights of lunacy. If you're the type of person who needs that, too, you'll find less of it in "The Skin I Live In." But maybe if you're an Almodovar fan, this is the one you'll love the most. I dunno. I give. His movies are just almost too much work for me. It's worth it. It's always worth it. But man, at the end, you're just exhausted. I'm beat just writing this.

Grade: B