Vera sits on Robert's lap after their relationship is challenged by Fulgencio. Having them end up a happy couple would have been a much more radical ending than the more conventional revenge denouement, but I do like the very last scene ("It's me, Vicente.") and its implication of unconditional love and acceptance.

Robert's motives for Vera's existence don't exactly add up to "happy couple". I think it's pretty hard to get "happily ever after" out of a misplaced revenge for Norma, vindication over Gal and Zeca and an almost Mengele-like pursuit of some fairly bizarre and unethical research goals. It seems that Robert must pay some price for these and Vera/Vicente get an option on redemption.

I'm not sure you can read the ending that exists solely as a conventional revenge denouement - or at least it's not the only way to read it. I think Vera's emotions are truly in conflict when it comes to Robert and if it were possible to regain something of Vicente without killing Robert and Marilia, Vera might well choose that route. After all, at the time she kills the pair in order to escape, she has no idea that acceptance awaits her. She can't recover what Robert stole and her plush prison is the only "safe" existence she knows. She's taking an enormous risk that should it turn out differently from her hopes leaves her no fallback.

I would have probably made Vicente's flirtation with his lesbian coworker less flippant and more mutually sincere and longing, and then included an epilogue in which they were now able to be with one another from now on, being the strange icing on the cake of Vicente's nightmarish experience.

how Vera/Vicente will work out where she stands emotionally and sexually. Looking at Almodovar's previous work, i think this ambiguity is intentional.

There is a moment in the revenge scene which makes the extant ending seem inevitable. When Vera/Vicente returns to the room with the gun and lube, just before Banderas realizes what's going on, we see how eager he is. And that eagerness brought the perversity of what was going on into sharp perspective for me, this situation which hearkens back to the misogynistic obsessions in Vertigo and Eyes Without a Face, but which takes them to another level of cruelty and self-delusion. What I found most touching about the film is how Vera/Vicente comes to accept the transformation which has been forced upon him (giving the title greater resonance), how he even discovers himself and improves himself in these conditions, and how he still yearns for what he has lost -- namely his freedom and a home where people love him. Reducing this to a case of Stockholm syndrome would be a disservice to Vera's/Vicente's character and the thematic complexities of the film.

Perhaps what I admire most about the film is its ethical standpoint and how it forces us to rethink certain expectations and cliches. We start out hating Vicente as a man; his encounter with Banderas' daughter is a mistake on his part, but one steeped in unfortunate circumstances, making it difficult to point fingers. The modern and feminist impulse is to demonize him regardless, but the film forces us to reconsider this assumption when he is kidnapped (a development we may initially celebrate), given a forced sex change (an act of literal castration and symbolic rape), and imprisoned and experimented on against his will. Later he is literally raped. He quickly becomes the victim and the heart of the film, a development which breeds enough questions and ideas that I'd need a dissertation to elaborate on them all. But the notion of female victimization is challenged, in particular the misogynistic notion that women must be victims and the misandrist notion that men are always tormentors -- and in true cinematic tradition, Vicente must become a woman to become a victim. Almodovar challenges both traditional and feminist preconceptions about rape and victimization; it's a fascinating and confrontational approach to the subject matter, and I really admire it.

Ultimately, it's Vicente and his suffering, poise, and grace which elevates what should be a ridiculous story to a sublime exploration of pain, personal identity, family, love, loss, and obsession.

(Also, I'm hesitant to use "he" to refer to Vicente, but I'm not sure how to approach that matter; Vicente clearly accepts the change he's experienced, but I believe he still identifies strongly with his former self and the life he had. This change did not come about willingly.)

in the attention paid to the physical aspect of casting Vicente and Vera. Cast the wrong body types in either role and no matter how good the acting the viewer would spend the rest of the film thinking, "You want me to believe what?!" But the physical similarities in the build of Jan Cornet and Elena Anaya had me spending about 5 seconds on the "Is this possible?" question. Considering the film treads into White Queen territory in that we're asked to believe six impossible things before breakfast, avoiding that trap was no small feat.

at the end of the second rape scene the singers voice from the party is displaced on the soundtrack with the voice of the daughter when her mother commits suicide.

I am wondering why Robert decides not just to take revenge through castrating Vincent. Instead, he comtinues his act until he makes a beautiful woman out of Vincent- does anyone know what could be the motivation of Robert to act like this? I mean, he wanted to test the artificial skin, ok. But why does he convert Vincent into a beautiful woman and why does he give the person he supposely hates the face of his beloved wife?

To pay for your sin by becoming part of the family that you destroyed? To have to face what you did every day, no way to escape? That seems rather effectively horrific, from where I sit.