This has been long overdue, one could argue it was because of its mostly polarizing effect on people but who are we kidding here? I just didn't know how to approach this review.I suppose that Almodovar, much like Madonna, had his moments back in the '80s and '90s but instead of knowing when to stop, he had decided to keep marching thus turning himself into a replica of Woody Allen: all the deep psychological traumas of their childhood/adolescence splashed across the screen.
One gets pretty fed up, eventually.
I could, perhaps, admit that The Skin I Live In has its moments, mostly in rediscovering Antonio Banderas (who can act, just not in American movies) and in the brilliance of its two female leads, but the overall impression that I get (and I am not a prude) is of some serious disgust.
The plot is sick to the point where it's not cool sick or fun sick but just plain disturbing and if you're the one to be turned on by it, go ahead. Indulge yourself. It was too much for my taste.
The unnecessery sexual scenes, gay-straight-rape-consensual-non definable are just too much to handle sometimes and the overall impression of it going towards Almodovar's consistent preocupation with his own sexuality is just way over the top for me.
Next time I start bitching about Hollywood, I'll remember this one and will tone down my revulsion towards blockbusters (actually, teenage franchises and Nicholas Sparks' novels turned garbage movies but let's just stop here...inhale, count to 10, visualize a beach, all is well, relax...)
6 out of 10.
