The Skin I Live In

Banderas settles into the dark character of Dr. Ledgard with a stillness and apparent ease that gave me the chills I left the movie theater wondering if it worth it.

Almodóvar has a body of work as rigorously personal as any out there, and, even with its flaws, he wears this latest Skin rather well.

Despite the typically invigorating sense of line and framing, The Skin I Live In withholds the director's customary satisfactions and affirmations. The result is a saga of obsession that, in its saturnine undertone, maintains a hard-to-enjoy integrity.

Even a second level Almodovar is better than most other people.

Few filmmakers are more assured or alluring, even when we fear we're following a monster.

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.

Alberto Iglesias' astounding score is a diverse work, taking in a wide array of tones and arrangements, shifting from high tension string sections, to electronic backbeats, from guitar drones to moody saxophone.

The closest Almodóvar has come to making a horror film, The Skin I Live In is a deeply uncomfortable yet fascinating puzzle box of a film.

Almodóvar has treated each of the elements of the film with surgical devotion. [Full review in Spanish]