12-08-11 Movie Review:  The Skin I Live In

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The Skin I Live In, the latest Pedro Almodovar movie, is basically a simple story made to seem complex by non-chronological organization; its structure by flashback also serves to conceal some holes in the plot and the fact that almost no interest is shown in psychological aspects of a promising theme of family relations. It’ll keep you wondering what is going to happen next and the photography is beautiful, but it never adds up to much. Since plot developments are about all that keeps your interest, there isn’t much I can tell you without spoiling what fun The Skin I Live In has to offer.

[Wichita show times]

The story, to me, is excessively unpleasant, though people less sensitive to stories of open wounds and genital damage may have no trouble with it; by today’s standards of horror stories, which is what it essentially is, it is pretty discreet, though one bit about keeping wounds open till they heal seemed to disturb the audience I saw it with.

The plot is basically a linear series of closely related stories, each growing out of the previous one, but developments either within or between segments aren’t always clear, and questions, especially of motivation, are seldom adequately handled, so the impression is more sensationalistic than was probably intended. I understand this is not a typical Almodovar movie, and I don’t see much reason to see it except to catch up on a director the world of those who call movies “cinema” make a great fuss about. (I have seen so little of his work that I have no opinion on it.)