By Thierry Jonquet
This name introduces a movie by way of Almodovar, in keeping with Jonquet's novel, due on 18th November 2011, starring Antonio Banderas. Richard Lafargue is an eminent plastic health care professional haunted by way of soiled secrets and techniques. He has an working theatre within the basement of his chateau and retains his companion Eve imprisoned in her bed room, a room he has built with an intercom and 300-watt audio system by which he bellows orders. Eve is just allowed out to be paraded at cocktail events and at the final Sunday of every month, while the couple stopover at a tender lady in a psychological asylum. Following those outings, Lafargue humiliates Eve through forcing her to accomplish lewd sexual acts with strangers whereas he watches via a one-way reflect. In alternating chapters, Jonquet introduces doubtless unrelated characters - a felony at the run after murdering a policeman, and an kidnapped younger guy who reveals himself chained bare in a dismal chamber, pressured to suffer all demeanour of actual torture by the hands of a mysterious stranger, whom he calls Mygale, after one of those tropical spider. All of those characters are stuck in a deceitful internet, ready to fulfill their destiny.
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This name introduces a movie by means of Almodovar, in response to Jonquet's novel, due on 18th November 2011, starring Antonio Banderas. Richard Lafargue is an eminent plastic general practitioner haunted by way of soiled secrets and techniques. He has an working theatre within the basement of his chateau and retains his accomplice Eve imprisoned in her bed room, a room he has outfitted with an intercom and 300-watt audio system during which he bellows orders.
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Extra resources for Tarantula: the Skin I Live in
He was still poring over his papers when Eve appeared in the drawing room. She was stunning in a low-necked black lamé dress, a THIERRY JONQUET 33 string of pearls about her throat. When she leaned over him, her pallid skin was redolent with the perfume he had just given her. She smiled at him and took his arm. He got behind the wheel of the Mercedes, and a few minutes later they were walking side by side in the forest of Saint-Germain, which was full of strollers attracted by the mildness of the evening.
You suffered from memory lapses; at times you became acutely aware of the unreality, even the absurdity of your predicament. Of course, you had a burning desire for answers from your master, but he discouraged all questions, concerning himself exclusively with your material comfort. What would you like for supper? Did you enjoy the recording? And so on. What about your village? Your mother? Weren’t people searching for you? The faces of your friends were fading from your memory, melding into a thick fog.
The next day, after kissing his folks goodbye, Alex left. Eight days later, he held up the Crédit Agricole branch and killed the cop. Everyone in the village must have clipped the front page of the paper with Alex’s picture on it, along with the picture of the cop and his family. Alex unrolled his bandage: his wound was inﬂamed, its edges bright red. He sprinkled his thigh with the powder his friend had given him, then bound himself up again, pulling the bandage good and tight over the fresh dressing.