Reviewed by James Cheetham
jamescheetham.jcc@gmail.com
http://www.subtitledonline.com/reviews/the-skin-i-live-in
The Skin I Live In, Pedro Almodovar’s latest cinematic tale, is his usual genre bending and gender twisting affair that weaves through a narrative of a sometimes mythical, other times all too human, scope that pounds through its running time like only a maestro filmmaker could orchestrate.
With a plot that can be dissected into three concise parts, which initially fail to offer much of a link other than the central character, but then ultimately and disturbingly clash into place, The Skin I Live In charts the unsettling dynamic between Antonio Bandera’s Madrid based scientist/doctor and his mysterious patient, Vera (Elena Anaya). It becomes evident that Robert Ledgard (Banderas) has been using Vera as a human specimen to uncover the depths science can reach in the field of face transplants and skin grafting, and events reach a frenzy when the son of Ledgard’s maid (Marisa Paredes) makes an unwelcome and over-due appearance.
As the hulking brute of a man intimidates his way into the lavish home of Ledgard, which also houses his laboratory and Vera’s room/prison, revelations are unleashed as a consequence of a harrowing sequence of violence. This then leads us into an Almodovar staple, a lengthy flashback to six years prior which gradually unfolds the history of Ledgard and Vera, eventually leading back to the present day catastrophe that becomes their relationship…
Almodovar shows us once again that he is a masterful storyteller, the narrative ticking along immaculately and failing to bore for one second, as elements of the plot slowly but beautifully unwind at a precise pace. It allows room for the viewer to piece plot threads together, but still gives room for the shock of the final outcome, when it finally reveals itself. He imbues the film with a fantastical element, in parts likening the film to fairytale imagery. When the Zeca, the maid’s son, barges in and manages to tear at their dysfunctional family unit of doctor, patient and maid, he is dressed as a tiger (having come straight from a carnival) and transforms into the ferocious beast ripping his way through the idyllic home and becoming the evil catalyst for what will soon develop.
Further connotations can be pulled from gothic literature, with The Skin I Live In displaying obvious parallels with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, evolving the film into a modern day telling of the experimental creature and his/her battle with identity and the need to have his/her love reciprocated. In true Almodovar style then, The Skin I Live In becomes a story that toys with the barriers of sexuality and identity, the issue of gender becoming the ultimate backbone of the film during the final act.
Completing the film is Almodovar’s usual graceful control of the mise-en-scene, skewed angles, blazing fires, corridors back dropped with beautiful yet foretelling colourful paintings. The room in which Vera resides is an artwork within itself, the walls scrawled with dates, times, musing and drawings. Naked female forms etched onto the plain walls bare their genitalia as they lack faces and instead have small houses placed on their necks instead of heads, an intricate detail that showcases Vera’s internal conflict; a homeless individual whose main solace is a broken mind. The music accompaniment is of importance also; at times, reaching Hitchcockian levels, as strings unsettlingly wire through the score, the music coaxed in during moments when it is absolutely necessary and working as part of the film, rather than simply tacked on because it has to be.
While you could complain that it may not be a change of pace for Almodovar, as it fits into his usual format of filmmaking and dances with the same themes that are found in his past efforts, The Skin I Live In is still a majestic film. At times, it becomes one of his most genre pieces, as it tussles with themes the genre of horror is famous for, such as man’s forage into the depths of what he can manipulate the human body into, but he always grounds it with a level of realism that skews it to the realms of a drama/thriller. Each character has a different moral compass, and when you think you have found the villain of the piece, further plot developments cause judgements to be altered. Due to this, when the conclusion arrives, it is bittersweet — you can sympathise with each character but also demoralise then, making for a frustrating yet hypnotic climax.
This sense of bewilderment must also be attributed to the cast, Banderas’ and Anaya’s efforts are as effective as the script in creating characters who dovetail through a sea of ambiguity — in the wrong hands, this would have come across as unbelievable and farcical. Elena Anaya stands out especially, sauntering through moments of tragedy and mistrust, her eyes the magnetic tether between the audience and her character — a stand out scene being a flashback to her wearing a black skin tight suit and a plastic material face mask, the only visible feature being her eyes as they maniacally stare out as she attempts an escape.
As a film that skips between genres and isn’t afraid to lash out a bit of crimson gore when needed, The Skin I Live In is not necessarily going to be a film that suits everybody’s tastes. It has a few graphic scenes that shock and plot points that shock even more, but any established fan of Almodovar is going to come away pleased, as will film fans who enjoy to be pulled along on an intelligent and sometimes maddening ride.
5/5
Reviewed by James Cheethamjamescheetham.jcc@gmail.com
Keeping up with the modern trend of social media, something that seems to have rapidly afflicted our society and become an obsession, horror films of recent years have quickly begun to encompass these mediums of communication to create new methods of terror. Chain Letter is one of the latest editions employing this stance on horror, attempting to expand upon the simple formula of a hack’n’slash film to incorporate the device of an internet chain letter which works as effectively as scrawling a big red X on each one of the victims foreheads.
Taking a page out of The Ring’s rulebook, a film that can be seen to be one of the most influential horrors of recent years, Chain Letter abides by similar conventions, with the only escape from a painful, gruesome death being the passing on of this chain letter via email. It is an interesting idea that, with a bit more effort put in, could have resulted in an intriguing film, the premise of signing away a friend’s life by clicking the mundane ‘send email’ button to save your own skin playing into darker themes of guilt and sacrifice for personal gain. Unfortunately, Chain Letter doesn’t make too much of an effort to explore this side of things, and decides to focus more upon the killer, a hugely scarred man who has a fetish for metal chains.
This means the premise of the film, the chain letter, is put on the back burner and instead the camera focuses in upon this monster who, for no reason explained, decides to slay a handful of high school teens. Unlike successful villains of classic horrors, such as Freddy Krueger and Hannibal Lecter who inspire a real sense of villainy due to their lack of motivation, the villain of Chain Letter is lacking in any kind of depth to give this absence of reasoning to his chain letter killings any sinister sway. Eventually he turns into more of a comical figure as you see this hulking mass of a serial killer perched over a computer screen looking on facebook, evolving Chain Letter into a parody, unwittingly poking fun at the idea of films that merge together elements of horror with social media platforms.