Take bits of Frankenstein and Fall of the House of Usher, add a touch of Pygmalion and…well, if I mention the fourth film that comes to mind I’d give away a major plot point of the movie.  Trust me that it’s an unusual, messed up concoction of obsession, desire and science that only Pedro Almodóvar could bring to the screen.  Based on the novel Mygale (also known as Tarantula) by Thierry Jonquet, The Skin I Live In takes you on a winding, dark road to a conclusion that is repulsive and fascinating.  This movie may not be for everyone — Almodóvar can be an acquired taste — but if you’re looking for a jaw-dropping experience, this is the ticket.  I only wish it had opened in time for Halloween, since it has a feel that’s tailor-made for that holiday.

Robert Ledgard is a brilliant doctor.  His research in skin grafting has fellow surgeons eager to attend his presentations.  He’s also kinda creepy, but his personal life has been rife with tragedy so it makes sense that he keeps a certain distance from others.  But his distance could be due to the woman he has locked away in his house.  Is she his prisoner, or a patient, or both?  The Skin I Live In will keep you guessing until the final scene as the film keeps upping the strangeness factor ‘til it explodes.

Much of the usual Almodóvar gang is here.  Antonio Banderas takes a break from being a dashing animated tomcat to play Doctor Ledgard, and it’s good to see him dig into a meaty role.  Elena Anaya (Talk To Her) plays the enigmatic Vera Cruz, the woman who fuels Ledgard’s obsession.  She’s low-key and brillant, though I will never watch her in the video for SexyBack in quite the same way ever again.  Marisa Paredes (All About My Mother) plays the cryptic housekeeper Marilia and does a pretty good job of channelling Mrs. Danvers.

Almodóvar does a great job with bizarro material, and here he really gets to dig into a twisted muck of strange.  This is car accident cinematography at it’s best; the material is disturbing, gross and you feel a little twisted for watching, but it’s impossible not to keep looking.  The movie deals with two stories, and when they finally intersect it’s mind blowing.  I still felt like I needed a shower afterwards though; this movie is not for folks who can’t handle a heaping dose of fuckuppedness.  But the groovy jazz soundtrack lightens up the heavy load your eyes are carrying, and the first-rate performances keep a freaked out film from feeling too over-the-top.  The subject matter is done in such a matter-of-fact manner that even when things start to go wobbly it’s easy to follow along.  Well, by the time things really start to get bizarre you’ll want, need to know what happened to everyone.  Side stories about Ledgard’s brother and dead wife may help to define the man Ledgard has become, but they really just get in the way of the strange connection Ledgard has with Vera.  (Plus, Ledgard’s creepy-ass brother seems inserted into the film only to serve as a way to amp up the sex and violence.)

Almodóvar has branched out into more subtle storytelling in the last several years.  It’s good to see him get his freak back on.  Even though The Skin I Live In is tough to handle at times, it’s a compelling, masterful film.