The Skin I Live In
Almodovar, you twisted, flamboyant, genius bastard. You got me. I freely admit it. Did not
see that coming. European indie revenge as only Pedro could concoct in his shrewd imagination, he cast Antonio Banderas as the widowed Spanish plastic surgeon with tragic secrets and a mean streak, no doubt to throw us off the scent of the demented depths his character has to go through the course of the film. In that sense it was the perfect move. Banderas has never been creepier. Skin-crawling, you might say. But itís the lovely Elena Anaya as Banderasís mysterious live-in patient that creates the most intrigue for the first half of the movie as you wonder just what the arrangement is between her and Banderas, and what relation she is to his past that could possibly explain why the fuck he has her ensnared in some psychosexual dependency that only gets mutually stranger as the film winds on. One of the most strikingly original revenge thrillers youíre apt to see in any language, for my money. It has its flaws, but itís solid.