The Skin I Live In, dir. Pedro Almodóvar

No matter how much effort you give to change it, to what extremes you go, even to the full harnessing of a seemingly infinite supply of resources, the human body will be vulnerable. Robert, a supremely gifted doctor and plastic surgery miracle worker, enslaves beautiful woman in his cushy home so he can use her to experiment and test the new ultra-durable skin he’s developing.  But this is just the start—there’s a convoluted, soap-opera backstory here, that weighs more on the operatic than the soapy (your mother won’t want to see this one). Robert’s altruism is slowly called into question as we witness, through flashback sequences, his own privacy, and those he loves, invaded. Altruism mixes with vengeance and the thicker the plot the thicker the conflict as we’re bludgeoned with the reality that behind our skin is a mind, a persona which drives our bodies beyond even the hardest flesh, and it's this brutal feature of humankind that devolves our best impulses, our best pursuits.