Samu Fuentes’ The Skin of the Wolf (Bajo La Piel de Lobo) is breathtaking for many reasons, one being that it’s set up in the mountains of early 20th century Spain. Fuentes, both writer and director, weaves a claustrophobic tale about Martinón (Mario Casas), a rugged animal trapper in search of a wife to ease his loneliness. Pain and isolation dominate the film, and the camera always captures dark, tight angles imposing a dull dread—whether it comes from the rough wooden walls, the rusty traps, or the towering trees. It’s a draining watch, at times plainly uncomfortable. Like the meat Martinón flays, the film has a rawness that’s central to its beauty. Yet, more often than not, that rawness works.
The film opens with a panning shot of a wintry forest, establishing its vastness with a chilly, neutral indifference. We follow Martinón for the next fifteen odd minutes and get familiar with his routine. He hunts, cooks, collects water and repairs his supplies, taking up residence in either cramped cabins or empty caves. Martinón doesn’t speak for this entire time. Instead, the noises of the wilderness fill the scenes. His boots slosh in the snow. His fire roars next to his surly face. Distant birds cheep. What could become repetitive works here—visually communicating Martinón’s solitude, making it feel inescapable.
Once the days grow warmer, Martinón walks into the nearby town to sell his pelts. At a local tavern, the bar owner gives him the idea to find a lover. Martinón rebuffs him at first, saying the winter would be too harsh for another, and that women are difficult to tame. He changes his mind after having lustful sex with a local woman named Pascuala (Ruth Díaz). Fuentes shoots the scene of Martinón asking Pascuala’s father, Ubaldo, for permission to marry from outside Ubaldo’s home. They, and Pascuala with family in the adjacent room, can be seen through the windows, miming conversation like they’re puppets on strings.
Pascuala doesn’t last very long. She dies from illness after birthing a stillborn child. Martinón storms back into the town and confronts her father, accusing him of knowing Pascuala was sick and pregnant beforehand. Ubaldo offers to give Martinón his youngest daughter, Adela (Irene Escolar), in exchange. She’s frozen while he examines her body, spinning her around, lifting her chin and tugging her lips.
From here, the story returns to the mountains. There are more scenes of the animal trapper life—chopping, eating, scraping, smoothing, stitching, digging. Now it all starts to drag on, with little dialogue or plot to propel the film. It’s still atmospheric, but it’s a monotonous atmosphere. Everything is barren and hellish, creating a strong image that doesn’t say much beyond its brutality.
Slowly our sympathies transfer from Martinón to Adela. Martinón’s reclusive life has left him unable to properly socialize. He’s sullen and uncommunicative. He forces himself on Adela, grunting and growling. The iron rods on her bedroom window look like jail bars. Instead of finding liberation in her company, Martinón imprisons her alongside him, as if to pass on the pain that’s gripped him so she’ll understand. The camera circles Adela’s head as she cries, standing in the grass and looking yearningly off in the distance.
All the while, Fuentes populates his film with Christ imagery. There’s a cross in Ubaldo’s house. Martinón flies into a graveyard and angrily kicks down a bunch of crosses after Pascuala’s death. Even Martinón himself, with his long brown hair and beard, vaguely resembles Jesus. It’s unclear what this subtext is supposed to evoke, if anything. Maybe Martinón’s life situation is some form of divine punishment. Perhaps him looking to change his situation disrupts his fate, causing misery. Fuentes doesn’t do much with the allusions, and it comes across as just stylistic decoration.
There’s a lot to look at in Fuentes’ debut feature. The great performances and arresting visuals do enough to make it a worthwhile watch. Whether there’s much substance underneath the style is up for debate. Search too hard for some deeper meaning and the trail goes cold.
