Hopping back and forth in time, the film follows cosmetic surgeon Robert (Banderas) as he copes with the fallout of a car accident which left his wife horrifically burned and scarred. To say much more would be to give the game away, but as the twists and turns build up you find yourself occasionally gasping in disbelief or instead stifling giggles - most of them surely intentional - in your fist. There are some pleasingly dry nods to the surgical torture porn of Saw and Hostel, but there's nothing graphic or unpleasantly gratuitous here.
As we get filled in on the backstory, the layers of ridiculousness build up in waves of melodramatic insanity. On the odd occasion where just showing you isn't enough, Almodóvar resorts to having his characters give their barmy dialogue without a smirk, and you have to salute the way that everyone plays it straight. Yes, it's absurd. Yes, it's very, very silly, but The Skin I Live In is also hell of a lot of fun.
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