The Skin I Live In: Torture Me Please, Mr. (Dr.?) Banderas

Update November 9, 2011:  FINALLY saw this film last night.  It was preposterous in the extreme, but if you accepted that going in, it was very well done and entertaining.  The use of nonlinear timeline as a plot device usually strikes me as a gimmick, but it served its purpose well here.  I also forgot that Antonio Banderas was Antonio Banderas (try that with Robert De Niro or half the leading men in movies today and see how that works out for you).  He was great!  Especially when hosing down captives in the basement.  Hubba hubba!

I am jealous of her.  Sort of.  Note the way she sits on his lap like a Ventriloquist dummy in this shot.  I have no doubt that this was intentional (to the director/producer).  But God, the intensity of his scrutiny.

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       OH!!! MY!!! GOD!!!



        Look at the sweet manna the heavens (or Director Pedro Almodovar) have rained down upon me:


        I just found out about the film and I watched the trailer four times!  Then I went to its Wikipedia page , read the full plot, and watched the trailer three more times!  It’s late at night and I should be getting to bed, but I decided it was best to write while still in a frenzy of…well….a frenzy!

        I ask you, gentle reader, could the subject matter be any more perfect?  If you were too lazy (or grossed out) to read the teaser from Rotten Tomatoes, I’ll cut-and-paste it here:

Ever since his wife was burned in a car crash, Dr. Robert Ledgard, an eminent plastic surgeon, has been interested in creating a new skin with which he could have saved her. After twelve years, he manages to cultivate a skin that is a real shield against every assault. In addition to years of study and experimentation, Robert needed a further three things: no scruples, an accomplice and a human guinea pig. Scruples were never a problem. Marilia, the woman who looked after him from the day he was born, is his most faithful accomplice. And as for the human guinea pig…– (C) Sony

        A mad scientist film with an uber-hot leading actor, chock-full of themes of violence, obsession, imprisonment, transformation, collusion, and mental illness!  Oh my God!  Did you see that scene in the trailer where Antonio Banderas was hosing down that captive, frightened guy with the metal chain around his neck?  With a lamp turned on him?  And then tying him down to an operating table?  And the woman with the masked  face and nude-colored leotard being observed on video-camera?  And in black, fighting the man toward the end?  And all those guns!  And the CLOTHES Mr. Banderas was wearing! That catchy, hypnotic score!  The mind reels!  It absolutely reels!

       See this quote from SF Chronicle reviewer Mick LaSalle: “The Skin I Live In” is like a David Cronenberg horror film as made by a director who doesn’t fear the body but revels in it, who is too sensual and amoral by nature to find anything truly disgusting or foreign.

      And I thought Taken had it all!

      It is imperative that I see this movie as soon as possible.  A matinee, a theater as empty and private as possible…I want to be alone with the film and my gleeful depravity.  Alone, all alone!

      Love is a very slippery concept for me, but when I think about it, I think it must be like obsession.  At least a little bit like obsession.  I am familiar with obsession, for better or for worse.

      You know, one of the things that I think of sometimes is that my psychoanalyst seems surprised, and rather interested, in the fact that I am completely and utterly unconflicted with my sexual leanings (that is not to say that she thinks I can probably practice them and live a truly fulfilled life).  I embrace it, love it, pursue it, the way pyromaniacs rhapsodize fire and arson.

      With the same predictable consequences.


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