We excitedly countdown to the 72nd Festival de Cannes with a different prize winning film each day.
La piel que habito / The Skin I Live In, 2011
Vulcan Award of the Technical Artist – José Luis Alcaine (cinematography)
Pedro Almodóvar’s The Skin I Live In can be best described as a modern retelling of Frankenstein. With Antonio Banderas’ Plastic surgeon Robert Ledgard being a perverse contemporary equivalent of Victor Frankenstein, meddling with science and nature in order to create a ‘beautiful monster’.
Like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Almodóvar’s The Skin I Live In is taboo pushing, shockingly graphic in its depiction of sex and violence, and its comments on our need to control those who we claim to create. There are even similarities between the two narratives. Both Frankenstein and Ledgard, become obsessed with creating life after they have it cruelly snatched away. And like Frankenstein’s creation, Ledgard’s creation Vera (Elena Anaya) is mysterious, misunderstood and deadly.
When asked during an interview about whether Frankenstein (among others) were inspirations, Almodóvar replied back with “I can’t say really that was taken consciously, but in fact was part of a deep cultural pool of resonances that I have. Yes, they’re there of course, but it’s really a whole sort of history of the idea of the scientist that’s trying to create a new being.”
The film may be an adaptation of Thierry Jonquet Tarantula (Mygale) but there’s no denying that The Skin I Live In is very much an Almodóvar film, unique in its appearance and in its approach to tackling certain themes and issues that recur throughout the director’s work.
The film opens with Vera being held captive in his huge mansion in the Spanish city of Toledo. We see the servants prepare her breakfast (in the kitchen, Vera is watched on CCTV). Her food is delivered via dumbbell waiter.There is virtually no human interaction. However, her ‘prison’ isn’t exactly a jail cell. She has every luxury aside from her freedom. We could be mistaken at first, ad believe that Vera is Ledgard’s patient.
However, it becomes clear that she is being held against her will. Her choices are slim, and she can either escape by taking her life or can trick the doctor into fall in love with her.
Through a series of flashbacks, we slowly learn the background between Ledgard and Vera’s complicated relationship. Many years ago, Ledgard’s young wife Gal, was horribly burned in a car accident. Thereafter she lived in total darkness without any mirrors, until ultimately she takes her own life (see how, the past is threatening to repeat itself already?)
Ledgard was left to raise their daughter Norma (Blanca Suárez) who grew to be a nervous, socially anxious young woman who may have not be physically scarred, but certainly emotionally scarred by the incident involving her mother’s accident and death.
In the present day, Vera’s existence is discovered by criminal Zeca (Roberto Alamo) who is the son of the housekeeper Marilia (Marisa Paredes). Zeca believes that Vera is Gal, and proceeds to force himself on her as he had an affair with Gal which led to her death. And there is the investigation into a missing young man called Vicente (Jan Cornet), which may lead back to Ledgard.
To say that Ledgard is obsessed with Vera is an understatement. Like similar misogynistic characters like Reynolds Woodcock in Phantom Thread (2017), Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady (1964) and John “Scottie” Ferguson in Vertigo (1958), Ledgard is determined to create the perfect woman in his vision.
These films all depict a male character who is in both awe and fear of the power that women have over men. To some extent we can sympathise with Ledgard, but only up to a certain point. As the narrative unfolds and Almodóvar peels back the ugly truth, we are left reeling from the shock. As twists go, this is a prime example of how to execute one.
The Skin I Live In raises some very interesting points in what defines an individual’s identity, do we define who we are as a person by our physical appearance or is it solely on what exists on the inside that counts? As Almodóvar brilliantly described it, “The identity theme here is treated like a punishment.” Without giving away too much, the concept of gender identity becomes blurred in the film, and Almodóvar leaves the viewer with plenty of food for thought.
This is very much a horror film although on first glance it doesn’t exactly seem like it is one in the traditional sense. As the film’s narrative develops, the horror elements begin to emerge Almodóvar is a director that likes to blend and mix different genre tropes, but as he revealed in an interview this was his first time tackling the horror genre. “I approach one genre that I didn’t before: the horror movie. I don’t mean this is a horror movie, but there is a part inside, in the middle of the movie, 20 minutes, that really belongs to that genre. That was completely new for me.”
The film is as beautiful to look at as the character of Vera is. Praise must be given to the film’s production designer Antxon Gómez and cinematographer José Luis Alcaine, who make this film absolutely luscious to gaze at. Both Banderas and Anaya are simply wonderful, and this film marks the first film Almodóvar and Banderas made together in 21 years.
Banderas’ Ledgard is charismatic, sinister and full of deep rooted rage. Banderas’ performance is very remisicitant of Cary Grant in Suspicion (1941), but our suspicions of Ledgard is very much justified in The Skin I Live In. Anaya is simply stunning, not only in her appearance but in a role that could have easily been performed in a cartoonish, over-the-top manner.
Overall, The Skin I Live In is a twisted horror melodrama that shows the true nature of the depraved mind of man. The film is as disturbing as it is beautiful, and after the credits have rolled you can’t help shake off this feeling of unease. This is what make Almodóvar a master of storytelling, he just has a way of getting under your skin.
