THE SKIN I LIVE IN (Pedro Almodovar, 2011)
Almodovar is king of odd, bold, blunt Movie Movie images (not to mention plots). Nobody else manages to wring this kind of sensual pleasure out of colours, bodies, faces and strange juxtapositions. In some ways it’s a minor film – the various psychologies turn out to be deceptively pat – but it encapsulates and renders irresistibly gaudy the essence of what’s wonderful about cinema. And in a timeless way too: you could remove the entire (characteristically intoxicating) soundtrack and it would still work. It’s a movie to gawk at, laugh with and get drunk on.