The Skin I Live In (Pedro Almodovar)

He's got her under the skin.

Pedro Almodovar, known for films that contain unique mixtures of human comedy, dramatic absurdity and gender commentaries, is unusually darker and bizarre in "The Skin I Live In", a film that greatly offers a very, very morbid take on grief and infatuation but is also able to preserve some of Almodovar's trademark humor, albeit a more underlying one. 

As if partly inspired by Victor Frankenstein's travails or even Scottie Ferguson's (of Hitchcock's "Vertigo") obsessive fixation towards a mysterious blonde woman, Almodovar's cinematic touches in this film are infinitely more brooding and, in some ways, also more pitiful in tone as it brings our protagonist, a brilliant plastic surgeon named Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas), into a fate already sealed by certain doom and imminent futility as he obsesses himself in endless experimentation with a mysterious woman named Vera (Elena Anaya).

I know, I know, there has been an almost automatic requirement for any film review to contain at least two to three sentence plot synopsis so that readers can familiarize themselves to whatever film the reviewer is tackling, ranting or plainly rambling about. But with me excluding one in this review, do think of this as a favor. See the film for yourself and be enlightened of what may be one of the most unique cinematic experiences that you may ever lay your senses upon for quite a while. Now, with that being said, let's go back to the review proper (or something like that). 

Obsession and tragedy, these has been one of the more recurring themes on film as far as the 'mad scientist' sub-genre is concerned ever since Victor Frankenstein found out (maybe 'discovered' is the posh word) that electricity can resurrect the dead. It has been nothing but a tired cinematic vehicle, but just like David Cronenberg's "The Fly", "The Skin I Live In" offers a truly thought-provoking story and some unforgettable characters that genuinely remind us of the potential narrative and emotional power that the said sub-genre really has. 

But with that being said, it does not mean that "The Skin I Live In" merely exists within the 'mad scientist' boundaries and not a step more. Instead, the film's quality is truly multifaceted that viewers may attend the theater runs with different expectations but can still come out individually satisfied in different ways. 

To watch the film expecting a tense and suspenseful film, one would not be disappointed. If one comes into the film expecting a humane film about flawed love and emotional tragedy, you won't be let down either. Perhaps this is how Pedro Almodovar has intended the film to be seen: as a deeply human film about the inhumanity of cognitive and emotional irrationality that balances profundity and some suspenseful storytelling. But still, I believe those are not the main reasons that has made this film a truly special one. For me, it was Almodovar and his trademark directorial self that has. 

A filmmaker known for his sensitive and tender approach to gender-bending narratives, Almodovar has made the film sexually unnerving and shocking in the surface for the purpose of capturing enough attention so that his real message concealed within the film's sensational imagery can be absorbed more thoroughly, which now reminds me of Chuck Palahniuk's novel "Rant". 

In there, the main character's mother used to put thumbtacks or other mouth-crimsoning objects into foods that she cooks. In that way, she sternly believes, their great taste would appeal to the palate more competently because you've dissected through the meal to get there. In layman's terms, she believes that ecstasy comes after difficulty, which is what "The Skin I Live In" is all about. Beneath the detestably explicit visual content, there lies Almodovar's ever-compelling gender commentary, waiting to enlighten its audience with what it has to say. 

A perfect companion piece or, should I say, a more twisted cinematic brother to "All About my Mother", "The Skin I Live In" raises questions that provoke not just the mind and the heart but also the very perception of one's own gender and where does it really reside: In the mind, in the genitals, or in the heart?

Whether it is in a person's physical appearance or somewhere deeper is not what's important. Even Almodovar is cautious enough not to preach his side all throughout the film. What counts is that he was able to raise this very idea seamlessly, with capable emotions and with proper humanity, within the film. As the plot twist (yes, there is one) reveals itself, it's not much about how it was unveiled, but how it affects us afterwards. Call it an emotional twist if you may. 

With a penetrating story, powerful performances, notably those of Antonio Banderas (overlooked) and Elena Anaya (terribly unnoticed), and a sobering outlook that questions the requisites of what really makes one man or woman, not mentioning the effectively dream-like visuals and musical scoring, Almodovar's "The Skin I Live In" is, bar no genres, one of the best films of 2011.

FINAL RATING

Primal Fear (Gregory Hoblit)

The altar boy.

As much as it is a powerfully fearless courtroom drama, "Primal Fear" is a film better remembered as the shockingly brilliant cinematic debut of Edward Norton. But to limit this film solely for that fact does not do "Primal Fear" justice. True, it was Edward Norton, with his performance that I wouldn't bother to call as one of the great ones in recent memory, who has carried the film from its brutal opening scenes up to the shocking conclusion, but let's not count out Richard Gere. I have to admit that I have not watched a full Richard Gere film prior to "Primal Fear", as I've thought that, based on some snippets that I've seen from some of his works, he's merely playing himself on all of which I've partly seen. And with 'all', I mean two or three films, so they're not much for me to judge.

Nonetheless, Richard Gere is seemingly at his comfort zone playing an arrogant, cocky, scene-stealing hotshot lawyer named Martin Vail that ostensibly takes cases because he just likes the money and the attention. But with the film judging him worthy to be its hero, Gere convincingly transformed from such a charismatic prick into a silently desperate anti-hero that may or may not care for his client's fate, an altar boy named Aaron Stampler (masterfully played by Edward Norton) who 'allegedly' murdered a prominent Catholic Bishop, but still proceeded to defend him because his instinctive hunch tells him that the boy is innocent.

Meanwhile, on the side of the prosecution, there's Janet Venable, played by Laura Linney with reckless fervor and dry wit, a lawyer who takes on the role of prosecutor in the case more because she wants to keep her job (she's continually being pressured by her boss, John Shaughnessy, portrayed by John Mahoney) and less about unraveling skeletons better locked tight inside a closet. Surprisingly, both Gere and Linney had wonderful chemistry together, as their slightly humorous vibe makes the off-courtroom scenes seem to take on a bit of a comic tone, which personally makes those said scenes easier to watch even with all those barrister jargon being spontaneously thrown in the air.

"Primal Fear", with its initial narrative spark that fully promises a tangled murder story, may be much more deceptive than how you may initially think it would be. With a story (thanks to the source novel by William Diehl) that involves the Catholic Church and some muckraked revelations here and there, the film, with us viewers not knowing what we're really in for, is founded upon an evolving and sharp-edged murder case that may look isolated yet can really be something much more, but then again, can just be the other way around.

With this simple a cyclic narrative flow, "Primal Fear" has been way more effective in conveying complexity through its roundabout revelations and logical beatings around the bush to achieve a certain coherence to support a conclusion that may otherwise be deemed too simple, but one that will ironically make you ponder for hours on end even by the time the credits finally run out and all else are black.

Director Gregory Hoblit, a man whose career surprisingly never took off after this very impressive film, has painted a cinematic Chicago that's like a Gotham City that never was. Modernistic in its immediate towers and skyscrapers, depreciated in its mid-dwelling apartments and almost dystopian in its underbelly, cinematographer Michael Chapman has given Chicago a proper look to accompany the film's tone and also to disassociate and contrast the murdered bishop's posh house with those of the less unfortunate ones.

Whenever one hears the term 'courtroom drama', it's easy to expect some larger-than-life speeches given by the main characters, be it the lawyers themselves or the haplessly accused ones. We've seen Paul Muni's numbing speech in "The Life of Emile Zola", we've witnessed Gregory Peck's "In the name of God, do your duty" monologue as Atticus Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird", and we've breathlessly beheld the lingual battle between Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson in "A Few Good Men".

"Primal Fear's" courtroom scenes, on the other hand, never had any big-time dialogue exchanges or killer monologues. Instead, facts are treated as facts, while short-handed evidence and wrong choices of words equate frustration and seem like nothing more. The film, after all, is truly more focused on what it has to unravel than what it has to say.

To succeed on film at a young age, there are mainly two extremes: it's either you're really, really good at what you do or you just had the looks (sometimes it's even a case of nepotism). Norton, with his brilliant acting chops, stumbled and stuttered his way into cinematic prominence. He surely has taken the hard way. Indeed the path of a true actor.

FINAL RATING