The Skin I Live In is idiosyncratic Spanish director Pedro Almodovar’s 18th film and the first in 21 years to reunite him with his discovery, Antonio Banderas, whose career he launched as the hottest Castilian export since paella. Surreal but disappointingly drab, it’s still not the best Almodovar in years. Despite the usual Almodovar plot twists, kinky sex and themes of sexual identity reversal, gender bending and mad desire, the cult auteur has gone off the tracks and lost his compass. The result is stylish, but nothing more than a derivative horror movie about plastic surgery gone berserk that recalls all those old midnight shows about mad scientists playing God with Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lionel Atwill and George Zucco. The deadly rays from their secret labs must be heating up to a red alert with so much new interest in an old genre. Read More
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