In order to appreciate the latest triumph by Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar, The Skin I Live In (La Piel que Habito), two things are necessary: eyes and heart. No need for thick skin, unless you are sensitive to surrealism, non-linear plots, sharp razors and the color red — as in blood.
The eyes will follow a brilliant plastic surgeon/scientist (Antonio Banderas) carefully monitor every progress and setback of his latest experiment: Vera (Elena Anaya). This is the name of the beautiful young woman of flawless skin whom Dr. Robert Ledgard keeps locked inside one of the rooms in his remote Toledo palace-like home. He watches her sleep, read and practice yoga from his room using a giant TV screen. Agile and flexible, in body and mind, Vera glows even when no indication of a possible release is given to her.
Nobody knows of her existence except Ledgard and his housekeeper/assistant, Marilia (Marisa Paredes, who doesn’t seem to age). Even fewer know of her origin. Almodóvar is in no rush to explain everything at once. Ultimately he gives in and hands us the real story here, piece by piece, wrapped in surgical blue in the same unapologetic manner Ledgard crafts a full-body skin.
To the sounds of anxious violins and other dramatic tunes, we meet other eccentric characters and learn all about Vera’s origin — and herein lies the incredible shock. It will take you a couple of seconds – a minute in my case — to process what Almodóvar has just thrown your way.
It is not just the combination of Georges Franju’s Eyes Without a Face (minus the carnival music) and Thierry Jonquet’s novel Tarantula, but so much more. What this more constitutes depends on who is watching. Almost every object shown in the film has an elegant quality to it, not just the obvious long white stairs. Eroticism and sensuality are brought on by Vera’s yoga poses and the flesh-tone body suit defining her delicate figure. There is also humor, albeit in odd spots. You may catch yourself laughing at scenes that, normally, are traumatic.
“The things a madman’s love can do,” Marilia, the assistant, is seen saying as she narrates the tragic past events that lead us to the present. With a wife burned in a car accident and a daughter raped, Banderas’s character is no stranger to tragedy. He knows a violent unfortunate event does not end with the extinguishing of the fire or the rescuing.
That is merely the beginning and has no comparison to the trauma that sets in later. He knows this well because his wife and daughter could not bear it. He is hoping to give Vera a skin that is thicker and better, in every sense.
Here Banderas is scariest when silent. And although he appears more charming handling his mother tongue, the cold calm precision with which he walks, talks and carries himself is chilling. His character is a man of actions, not so much of words, and absolutely zero hesitations.
But even after all has been disclosed, he does not quite become Dr. Frankenstein. Not to me. Just as it is not fair to classify the film as simply horror. Follow the trail of revenge, of undeserving horrific actions and reactions and you will find a very familiar face: a man in pain who asked for none of it to happen but to whom it happened anyway. He has very little left and will not risk losing it again, even if that makes him a monster.
Of the two things needed to understand this psychological drama, your eyes will be the first to condemn him and execute him. But in your heart, you will understand his sickness.
LA PIEL QUE HABITO (THE SKIN I LIVE IN). Starring: Antonio Banderas, Elena Anaya, Marisa Paredes. Directed by Pedro Almodóvar. Rated: R. In Spanish with English subtitles. Now playing at: Regal Shadowood 16 and Cinemark Palace 20 in Boca Raton, Regal Delray Beach 18 and Cinemark Boynton Beach and Coral Gables Art Cinema.