About a week ago, maybe less, maybe more, who really remembers anyway, I went with the ever-so-lovely Bea la bella to see Pedro Almodóvar's latest release, La piel que habito. After a nice stroll through the Parque del Buen Retiro, a large park of endless trees, paths, statue fountains and flowers, we made it to the theater. Having never seen an Almodóvar flick in Spain, I was particularly excited about what lay before us. I was imagining the colors, the passion, a shirtless Antonio Banderas, and the accompaniment of cellos, all classic of Almodovar's beautifully dark films. We took our seats (assigned seats, that is; going to the cinema is like going to a baseball game) and got Pedrofied.
Dark it was. For me, a very humorous dark. A plot that teeters the brink of absudity and genius, it is great for anybody who likes Fargo or movies with forced sex changes. I don't want to give any more of the plot away because its unfolding is half the fun of the film. Some could call Banderas' character sick (as I'm sure Bea la bella would), but others could see him as a man capable of love, lost in a quest for vengeance. I won't digress into any Wrath of Khan parallels for your sake, but I must say that Ricardo Montalbán's strategy for revenge is uncalculating and barbarically simple next to Banderas' sadistically erotic version of 'eye for an eye', or more appropriately, a 'vag for a cock'. With a quality supporting cast, and a few reocurring Almodovarians, La piel que habito examines what makes us who we are, why we do the things we do, and how deep within us lie our true selves.
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