The Skin I Live In
Supposedly a creepy psychological film that so shocked film goers in Cannes that the viewers flooded from the theater in disgust.
I'm down for that.
If this was that? Then those people need to get a grip.
Had the story been told in sequential fashion, the big pervy reveal might have been much more shocking. Instead it was told in a series of flashbacks and flash forwards so that by the time the nature of the reveal was actually revealed, the reveal had already happened and therefore lost whatever shock value it might have had.
The end, in particular, was a complete fizzle.
The Nasonex Bee tried really hard to summon an air of deranged depravity but this is a role Mr. Bee Banderas just didn't quite have the depth to manage. The occasional smirk and glib nonchalance was more suited to Puss in Boots than a character of supposedly completely unsound mind. You didn't buy him as a brilliant and fabulously wealthy surgeon and you didn't completely buy him as an obsessed psychopath either. This was a role that required him to unleash a little and he never got that edge.
The story, what there was of it, was so jumbled but the concept in the right hands could be amazing.
Dad exacts righteous, disturbed revenge on the man he blames for causing his daughter's death and in doing so brings said dead daughter back to "life." That and that alone, without the sickish sexual twist, would be a strong film. Add in the sick sexo part? That would be something people would talk about for a long time.
The way this film was handled, however, completely fumbled the football. Dropped it on the ground and kicked it out of the back of the endzone for a touchback.
I expected so, so much more.