Under the Skin (2013) radiates with fearless audacity and unprecedented visual aesthetic— but underneath all its facade— the cave's hollow. Jonathan Glazer’s inconsistent and evocative dynamics of allegorical concepts and science-fiction realism are stretched too far out to points of abstraction; so much so that horizons we reach for disappear, and sentiments we try to connect with expire. Scarlett Johansson has never been more inappropriate for a role, and layers of her magnetic mechanic depth displayed in Her (2013) are stripped away here by poor material and inadequate preparation.
Cold, distant, unattached personalities— the so-called “outsiders of society”— are not the problem. Stanley Kubrick forced viewer to come to terms with one shot or idea before he moved on to the next. Yorgos Lanthimos binds his characters, images, and themes with tight, logical threads. Robert Bresson worked magically on the philosophy of transcendentalism. Paul Schrader ties loose ends by executing a strong, coherent arc. These are all masters of the "outsiders of society" craft, embedding their own, unique, yet structured, methods in pursuit of a singular vision. On the other hand, Glazer practically ignores all principles of refinery, drilling deep into the depressing core of loneliness with pure, visceral bombardment. Colors are as meaningless as characters, and each frame is less composed than the next. Scenes with dialogue are as careless as the ones without, and at a certain point, psychedelic sequences become far more prosaic than engaging. He provokes, but does not challenge.
Opposers would argue Glazer does not attempt to operate on any sort of rationale, but rather, on intrinsic impulses. Nevertheless, it is David Lynch who knew best how to manipulate viewers with raw, unapologetic emotion; something which Glazer fails to do throughout the entire runtime of the film. Lynch, like Hitchcock, would often “play the audience like a piano” so cunningly that you’re lost in their world before you can ever notice. Your eyes are fixated exactly where they want them, and your heart is beating exactly when they tell it to. By contrast, Glazer doesn’t even come close to commanding the same understanding; balancing passionless, restrained performances with lush, chromatic imagery. One seems stringently inflexible, while the other feels intangibly fluid. His style is a jumbled mixture of those who came before him— and along with the bland, modern-day Scottish setting— makes up for a tedious atmosphere.
Under the Skin may be thought-provoking, but so is every other science-fiction arthouse work. Coupling a magnificent dystopian production design with a hauntingly unforgettable score, Blade Runner (1982) approached the topic of authentic humanity with significantly more depth and ingenuity. During the climactic “Tears in Rain” monologue, you feel something. It’s an unspeakable sensation, but you feel it. During the climactic scene of Under the Skin, you’re more impatient for the film to end than moved. You don’t walk out with questions or answers, but a combination of exasperation and dismay.
To end on a high note, it must be said that Mica Levi’s soundtrack is one of the greatest we’ve seen in the last decade. A powerful blend amongst man and machine, ecstasy and loneliness, and longing for affinity, Levi takes us on a journey seemingly infinite through space and time. Catalyzing dissonance and hesitation within fleeting moments of euphoria and revelation, the piece “Love” is so beautifully indescribable that it transcends all genres or conventional norms. In between the lines you can almost hear an alien’s soul yearning for connection, waiting to be found and trying to break free. It is wailing, but something strange inside is stopping it from becoming who it wants to be. It reaches out, but takes nothing in. It wants, but its nature tells it otherwise.
And only then we realize it’s actually us who the alien is; like our counterparts, so desperately in need of someone else, yet afraid they will discover who we really are underneath our skin. We’re so afraid of being judged and assessed that we forget to smile. Laura, as an extra-terrestrial, accepts the deformed man for who he is better than we do. At least she isn’t bound by arbitrary societal standards like we are. We’re not the alien. We only wish to be. We wish everyone else didn’t think of us in ways we think of others. We’re hypocritical. Like Laura, we’re both the prey and the predator. Nihilism and physical isolation isn’t the main cause of loneliness and depression, Glazer and Levi suggest, it’s self-consciousness. I only wished the visual pairing did justice.
Under the Skin is not a masterpiece. It’s close, but there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. While the amount of unrealized ideas is staggering, they never were well communicated into coherent form. It only goes to show: sometimes an unhinged imagination is still not enough.
C+
Cold, distant, unattached personalities— the so-called “outsiders of society”— are not the problem. Stanley Kubrick forced viewer to come to terms with one shot or idea before he moved on to the next. Yorgos Lanthimos binds his characters, images, and themes with tight, logical threads. Robert Bresson worked magically on the philosophy of transcendentalism. Paul Schrader ties loose ends by executing a strong, coherent arc. These are all masters of the "outsiders of society" craft, embedding their own, unique, yet structured, methods in pursuit of a singular vision. On the other hand, Glazer practically ignores all principles of refinery, drilling deep into the depressing core of loneliness with pure, visceral bombardment. Colors are as meaningless as characters, and each frame is less composed than the next. Scenes with dialogue are as careless as the ones without, and at a certain point, psychedelic sequences become far more prosaic than engaging. He provokes, but does not challenge.
Opposers would argue Glazer does not attempt to operate on any sort of rationale, but rather, on intrinsic impulses. Nevertheless, it is David Lynch who knew best how to manipulate viewers with raw, unapologetic emotion; something which Glazer fails to do throughout the entire runtime of the film. Lynch, like Hitchcock, would often “play the audience like a piano” so cunningly that you’re lost in their world before you can ever notice. Your eyes are fixated exactly where they want them, and your heart is beating exactly when they tell it to. By contrast, Glazer doesn’t even come close to commanding the same understanding; balancing passionless, restrained performances with lush, chromatic imagery. One seems stringently inflexible, while the other feels intangibly fluid. His style is a jumbled mixture of those who came before him— and along with the bland, modern-day Scottish setting— makes up for a tedious atmosphere.
Under the Skin may be thought-provoking, but so is every other science-fiction arthouse work. Coupling a magnificent dystopian production design with a hauntingly unforgettable score, Blade Runner (1982) approached the topic of authentic humanity with significantly more depth and ingenuity. During the climactic “Tears in Rain” monologue, you feel something. It’s an unspeakable sensation, but you feel it. During the climactic scene of Under the Skin, you’re more impatient for the film to end than moved. You don’t walk out with questions or answers, but a combination of exasperation and dismay.
To end on a high note, it must be said that Mica Levi’s soundtrack is one of the greatest we’ve seen in the last decade. A powerful blend amongst man and machine, ecstasy and loneliness, and longing for affinity, Levi takes us on a journey seemingly infinite through space and time. Catalyzing dissonance and hesitation within fleeting moments of euphoria and revelation, the piece “Love” is so beautifully indescribable that it transcends all genres or conventional norms. In between the lines you can almost hear an alien’s soul yearning for connection, waiting to be found and trying to break free. It is wailing, but something strange inside is stopping it from becoming who it wants to be. It reaches out, but takes nothing in. It wants, but its nature tells it otherwise.
And only then we realize it’s actually us who the alien is; like our counterparts, so desperately in need of someone else, yet afraid they will discover who we really are underneath our skin. We’re so afraid of being judged and assessed that we forget to smile. Laura, as an extra-terrestrial, accepts the deformed man for who he is better than we do. At least she isn’t bound by arbitrary societal standards like we are. We’re not the alien. We only wish to be. We wish everyone else didn’t think of us in ways we think of others. We’re hypocritical. Like Laura, we’re both the prey and the predator. Nihilism and physical isolation isn’t the main cause of loneliness and depression, Glazer and Levi suggest, it’s self-consciousness. I only wished the visual pairing did justice.
Under the Skin is not a masterpiece. It’s close, but there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. While the amount of unrealized ideas is staggering, they never were well communicated into coherent form. It only goes to show: sometimes an unhinged imagination is still not enough.
C+