I guess you could classify “The Skin I Live In” as a surrealistic revenge sci-fi romance. Pedro Almodovar’s film is so lush, sexual, exotic and artful, as they always are, that it’s above genre or even emotional expectations. Rarely is a film this darkly sexually perverse simultaneously queasy and mesmerizing.
The plot in ways recalls “Vertigo,” although this Spanish art house classic hardly feels or looks like Hitchcock’s masterpiece. It’s the twisted story of the wealthy plastic surgeon Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas). Robert decorates his house with priceless Renaissance nudes, each Madonna shimmering in her perfection. But his prize possession he watches from a hi-def surveillance camera placed in the next room.
There sits Vera (Elena Anaya), a goddess Robert has crafted for himself. As he watches, his instincts transcend voyeurism. He is captivated in awe at the deep secrets and memories she represents, for she seems not entirely a woman but an untouched being. Each day, Vera sits in isolation doing yoga and reading, and she seems only aware of her purpose for Robert.
It’s because he has literally created Vera using a synthetic skin stronger than a human’s. She resembles Robert’s dead wife, and her strength against cuts, stings or burns leaves her an untouched masterpiece. Most of all, Vera radiates. Continue reading “The Skin I Live In”