The Skin I Live In

The Skin I Live In is a full-blown gothic horror movie by Pedro Almodóvar.

I’m just gonna let that sink in a moment.

Almodóvar’s films invariably place among the best movies of any given year.  He tells carefully constructed and observed stories with humanity and an impeccable eye for composition.  Films like Volver and All About My Mother offer not just an evening’s entertainment, but full-blown aesthetic experiences.

And here, in The Skin I Live In, he gives us a full-blown aesthetic experience that’s also a ‘mad scientist’ movie. 

Antonio Banderas, reminding us that he was an actor before he became a personality, plays the mad scientist - mad in both senses of the word.  His faithful assistant (and Almodóvar regular), Marisa Paredes, enables and supports him as only a faithful assistant in a mad scientist movie can.  The nature of his madness I’ll leave for you to discover.

The really interesting part of all this, however, is what Almodóvar does with Banderas’s madness.  He uses it to investigate and question our sense of self, of sexuality, of our relationships with the most important people in our lives.  What are they founded upon?  Are they malleable?  If so, how much?

And he does all this with the thoughtful, compassionate gaze and impeccable eye for beauty that marks all his work.  He takes a ‘mad scientist’ movie and turns it into something different, better, more.  He makes us think, and he makes us really see, and he gives us beauty at 24 frames per second.

Pedro Almodóvar can do no wrong.  The Skin I Live In marks yet another fine example.

Cell 211

Cell 211 is a Spanish thriller about a young man in an impossible situation.  Though unpredictable, it’s also a movie that makes sense.  Nothing happens without a reason, decisions flow from prior decisions, and characters behave consistently with their backgrounds and circumstances.  It’s a tense film, one that kept me engaged and trying to outthink it throughout its running time.  I enjoyed the heck out of it.

Here’s the story: Juan is a young man with a family who is on a tour of a local prison prior to his first day of work there as a guard.  Unexpectedly, he finds himself in the middle of a riot and passes himself off as a new inmate, one assigned to Cell 211.  What follows is an hour and a half of Juan trying to survive, prison authorities trying to find a way to both get him out and end the riot, and the prisoners’ leader weighing how much he can trust the new guy while negotiating an improvement in prison conditions.

The leader is a vicious killer, but he’s smart and adaptable.  Thus, the tension: how long can Juan keep him fooled?  How far is he willing to go to maintain his act?  What’s going to happen next?

Tension mounts without straining our credulity and without resorting to deux ex machinas.  The film has a careful eye for group dynamics on both sides of the bars.  By the end, we’re no longer entirely sure what anyone stands for, and the lines between good and bad have been blurred without resort to treacle or silliness.  And we bite our nails, then bite some more.  Cell 211 isn’t going to change your life.  It isn’t going to move you in the manner of a Kinyarwanda.  But it will grip you and entertain you and leave you shaken.  I'll take that any time.

The Orphanage

Walking out of THE ORPHANAGE, I thought, "That's the best
horror movie I've seen since THE OTHERS!"

Like THE OTHERS, THE ORPHANAGE is an example of the fact that axe
murderers and fake intestines aren't scary. Atmosphere, acting, and
music are scary (Yes, I did just spend five minutes trying to find a
synonym for "music" that starts with the letter A. I'm a nerd.).

Here's a movie that knows that the reveal isn't the scary part. It's
the involvement in the characters, the foreboding, the slow burn
that's the scary part (There's an essay in there about great horror
movies as great lovemaking and slasher films as a wham-bam in a
bathroom stall, but I'm not in the mood to write that tonight.). But
when you can make those three elements happen, then deliver on the
horrific climax and note-perfect denoument, why, you've got yourself a
winner. The ORPHANAGE does that, trusting itself and audience enough
to take its time, work the burn, and come through when it matters.
What a picture.

The Flower of My Secret

Ok, here's the deal: Marisa Paredes is a popular romance writer who can't get her serious novel, written under a different name, published. As she describes the manuscript, we learn that the story is that of VOLVER. Some of the characters and settings, we see, mirror those in the later film, suggesting that, when viewing VOLVER, we're viewing something created by the protagonist of THE FLOWER OF MY SECRET. I kind of like a world in which VOLVER (2006) and THE FLOWER OF MY SECRET (1995) are part of the same reality, and that makes THE FLOWER OF MY SECRET worth watching for its coolness factor alone.

THE FLOWER OF MY SECRET showcases a clearly talented filmmaker who is still in the process of growing into himself. He directs the story of a talented but fragile woman who's on the road either to breakdown or rebirth, or maybe both, and he does so with empathy for her story and the sparklings of the kind of visual flair we come to expect in his later films. Interestingly, her story isn't quite as compelling as that of Penelope Cruz in VOLVER. Even in Almodovar's world, fiction can be, well, more dramatic than real life. And that's fine. Just keep 'em coming, Pedro.

All About My Mother

I fired up ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER solely to check the Almodovar box. I didn't know anything about the picture going in, and that may be the best way to approach the piece.

ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER is a gorgeous picture, the kind of movie that had me watching with one finger on the "pause" button, just so I could admire the composition of certain shots. The care in the film's design reflects the care that went into crafting its characters on both the page and the screen. Cecilia Roth, playing the film's protagonist, anchors its interweaving stories and tragedies with a grounded, present authority and conducts us on a journey that's well worth the price of admission.

What a pleasant surprise.