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Surgeon Robert Ledgard is successful in cultivating artificial skin burns and insect bites resistant, yet he said he has been tested on mice, which he called 'GAL'. He presented his results in a medical symposium, but he was forbidden to continue his studies.
Despite the typically invigorating sense of line and framing, The Skin I Live In withholds the director's customary satisfactions and affirmations. The result is a saga of obsession that, in its saturnine undertone, maintains a hard-to-enjoy integrity.
There are few filmmakers -- David Lynch comes to mind, Woody Allen -- who have a completely unique way of imprinting a film. Nobody but Pedro Almodóvar could have made The Skin I Live In. And that's high compliment.
In Almodovar's world, the flesh is deception, the comedy dark, the sex weird and the tears real; this time, however, the director just wasn't able to pull off all of these elements.
These are questions one is left with -- and that's not an entirely satisfying feeling. Yet it's hard not to be drawn into the story, and even more, into the gorgeous storytelling.
November 04, 2011
Variety
Despite its scalpel-like precision, pic falls short of its titular promise, never quite getting under the skin as it should.