Often, when watching a feature film, the shaping hand of the director is barely noticeable. There's a certain sameness, particularly with Hollywood stuff, in the tone and the treatment of the subject, which itself is often a rehashed or plagiarised storyline. The movie could have been made by any number of directors. There's no chance of that watching The Skin I Live In (La piel que habito), a most bizarre story of twisted obsession, which recently opened VIFF.