Strongly recommended. I could write several pages about this astonishing movie, a strange brew of Vertigo, Eyes Without A Face and maybe a soupçon of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that comes from the laboratory of Pedro Almadovar (Volver, Talk To Her), reestablishing him as quite the auteur. The plot of The Skin I Live In is so tightly woven that I can’t say anything without spoiling it. I can only applaud the gloriously perverted way Almadovar casts the nature-nurture question and, perhaps . . . his own self-image. Elena Anaya (Mesrine: Killer Instinct), who intriguingly resembles Penelope Cruz, Almadovar’s one-time protégé, expertly plays the enigmatic Vera Cruz, suggesting profound discomfort in her own skin. Antonio Banderas, as Vera’s Pygmalion, gives his most muscular performance in years. The score, by Alberto Iglesias (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) perfectly sets a mood of distasteful dread. This movie may make you queasy - - it won’t bore you.
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