Where to start? Pedro Almodovar's latest film, The Skin I Live In, is somehow both violent and delicate. Almodovar is no stranger to dark themes: AIDS, rape, incest, pedophilia, and pain of all kinds pervade his films, yet they still manage to be lovely and hopeful. His main characters are typically women and vulnerable/nontraditional men (crossdressers, gay men, boys, etc). These characters are pillars of strength even after facing abuse at the hands of "stronger" members of society. I love Almodovar's films because they don't patronize or condescend to women and queer men. Almodovar's characters have dignity and, to use the word again, strength that allow them to overcome and transcend their circumstances, no matter how rough.
The Skin I Live In is yet another beautiful and traumatic Almodovar film. It is not gender-normative, the sexuality of the characters is wildly fluid and even bizarre, and it is about a supposedly weak person who thrives under the thumb of a supposedly strong person.I can't say much more without giving away a huge plot point of the film, which isn't so much of a surprise twist, but still radically changes your understanding of everything that comes before it. So, if you want to see the movie with a fresh slate, I'll say that it is difficult, but worth seeing (if you're a fan of Almodovar's other films, you'll probably love it, or at least know what to expect). If you're squeamish about violence, be prepared for scenes of rape, torture, and murder (not terribly graphic, but still pretty hard to watch). I can tell you that it's about a plastic surgeon, Robert Ledgard (played by Antonio Banderas) who has been developing a synthetic skin that is indestructible ever since the death of his wife, who was horribly burned in a car accident. Ledgard has a beautiful female captive whom he tests the skin on. The second half of the movie reveals who the woman is and how she came to be Ledgard's prisoner.
Now, if you want to know the twist, read ahead!
So, after the death of Ledgard's wife (who threw herself out a window after seeing her burned face), Ledgard's daughter, Norma, is emotionally destroyed. After she begins to recover and is able to socialize with peers, Ledgard takes her to a party where she meets a handsome young man named Vincente. Norma and Vincente sneak out of the party and start to make out in a nearby garden. Vincente fails to pay attention to Norma's increasing distress and proceeds to rape her until she starts screaming. He flees the scene, and Ledgard finds his daughter in a state of shock. She ends up back in a mental institution, with a crippling fear of men, including her father.
Ledgard finds out Vincente is the one who raped his daughter. He hunts the young man down, knocks him out, and chains his up. After starving him for several weeks, Ledgard drugs Vincente and performs surgery on him--specifically, a vaginoplasty. Vincente is completely broken at this point and just trying to mentally survive. Ledgard, over many months and years, turns Vincente into a woman--Vera--with the use of plastic surgery and drugs.
Vincente copes with his situation by rebelling in small ways (refusing to wear the makeup and female clothes Ledgard gives him) and also through yoga, which allows him to find a place to escape inside himself. Over time, he gains Ledgard's trust and even begins a *gulp* romantic and sexual relationship with him (so much wrong there!), leading the viewer to believe that Vincente has truly fallen in love with his captor, Stockholm Syndrome-style. But at the end, Vincente manages to escape and return to his mother, who doesn't recognize him.
So, for many reasons, this movie is all sorts of screwed up. But despite the violence and twisted plot, I loved it for its message that no matter what you look like on the outside, you are always yourself on the inside. In our culture of body shame, it's sometimes easy to forget that a person is much more than what they look like. I judge people based on their looks all the time (not proud of it)! Learning to look beyond outer appearances is a lifelong process.
In addition, The Skin I Live In suggests that gender identity is all in a person's mind. Some have accused to film of being transphobic, but I think it's the opposite. No matter how feminized he is on the outside, Vincente never stops identifying as a man on the inside. Much like a transgender person, Vincente knows who he is and does not let his outer appearance and the ways others perceive him affect his identity.
The Skin I Live In challenges many assumptions we make about people and the kinds of boxes we automatically put people in. Obviously, it challenges our perspectives on sex and gender--is Vincente still a man, even after his body and mannerism are completely feminized? Is he a man because he was born with male genitalia? Is he a man because he never chose to identify as a woman?
It also challenges our assumptions of sexuality. Both Ledgard and Vincente are straight men. Are they still straight after starting a (again--*gulp*) sexual relationship with one another--even though one of them now has a woman's body?
Finally, it challenges our view of criminality and justice. Vincente rapes Norma. At first, the situation is ambiguous--Norma appears to be into Vincente. But quickly enough we realize that she is terrified and not consenting, yet Vincente continues to have sex with her. Even though he does not throw her down and violently assault her, he still rapes her. Normally, that would make us hate Vincente, yet his punishment hardly fits the crime. We sympathize with him for the rest of the movie, as he faces unspeakable physical and psychological abuse at Norma's father's hands. Ledgard, on the other hand, is the true villain. He may have lost his wife and daughter, but his insane form of revenge makes it impossible to sympathize with him. However, there are a few moments where he seems to genuinely love Vincente/Vera. It's almost like reverse Stockholm Syndrome--the captor falls in love with his captive.
Writing this review makes me feel a little guilty for liking The Skin I Live In. When I see the plot laid out in writing, it seems that only a messed up person could enjoy this film. But watching Almodovar's films reminds me of reading John Irving's novels--specifically, The Cider House Rules. In that book, Irving manages to write about incest, rape, and abortion with what I can only describe as a "cozy" writing style. He managed to take the reader to dark corners while never making the reader feel alienated or frightened. Almodovar's films are similar--his themes are melodramatic and, at times, pitch black. But unlike other directors who cover similar themes (Todd Solondz and Lars von Trier come to mind), I don't come away from Almodovar's films hating humanity. Almodovar uses dark themes to uncover the deepest, most genuine emotions. When Vincente, now in a woman's body, kisses a picture of himself--his old self; his true self--he sees in a "missing persons" section of a newspaper, it is a classic Almodovar moment: it brings up feelings of love, heartache, and empathy in the viewer. Or at least it did in me.
5 out of 5 stars
