By Jake Howell jake.howell@utoronto.ca
The Torontonian Reviews UNDER THE SKIN
Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin is a film that knows very much what it wants to be, and through making the film such a profoundly evocative and stylistic experience, Glazer succeeds—perhaps not as an adaptation of Michel Faber’s 2000 novel of the same name, but certainly as its own piece of work entirely. Rooting itself exactly where the title threatens to go, the film features a quiet Scarlett Johansson as an alien seductress consuming her victims in the process.
Glazer’s filmography includes a variety of music videos (at the helm for tracks like Radiohead’s “Karma Police”) and this background is undeniably drawn from here. Peppered throughout the film are “seduction sequences” that feature Scarlett Johansson’s character undressing in front of various men in a black void of space, and as she removes more and more articles of clothing, her victim follows with erect intention towards their fate. As they approach her, they walk deeper and deeper into a pool of ethereal water, and we can only watch these men become completely submerged in the midnight darkness; their floating bodies reduced to ghostly hulls of skin.
These scenes don’t have any dialogue, but accompanying the visuals is music by English singer and composer Micachu (born Mica Levi), whose experimental score uses stark and piercing string instruments above a one-two beat to establish an overwhelming sense of trance. The music is so intense and the images are so arresting that I can only describe the result as remarkable, and Glazer’s representation of seduction is so abstractly manifested that screening the film feels akin to attending an exhibition of video art than it does experiencing an adaptation of Faber’s text. So be it. This is creepy stuff, but horror and beauty share more in common than we’d like to think.
For the most part, the film lives or dies depending on how these seduction sequences play to you. There is a distinct tediousness to Under the Skin that is largely due to Glazer shooting long and taking his time between each seduction scene, and we’re stuck waiting for what feels like the next music video to take the screen. Cruising in a van around Scotland, the dialogue between Johansson’s alien and the men she meets is more or less one-sided, with potential suitors babbling mindlessly as she works her wiles. There is one particular seduction, however, with a disfigured “elephant” man, and the loneliness from his face and words makes it that much harder to watch the alien take advantage. The writing here is poignant and difficult to forget, as it underlines just how terrifyingly deceptive this alien can be.
Despite the general wandering of Under the Skin’s plot, there is still much to pore over in the frame. For example, Glazer’s decision to light the film with heavy chiaroscuro makes getting lost in the ambiguity sexy and mysterious, and it’s rare that you see the fullness of a character’s face. There is almost always something obscuring the skin or hiding the face of both prey and predator, which makes the shadows and confusion a bewitching result. There is plenty of nudity here—both male and female—but it is both implied and expressive, capturing the physicality of our species in an extraordinary way.
I should also mention that the film’s ending is potentially a frustrating one, but given how artistic the rest of the film treats the subject, the speechless conclusion should come as no surprise. The payoff here is bizarre, anti-climactic, and just as visually striking as the seduction scenes are—so, in other words, things are par for the avant-garde course. This shouldn’t be an issue, though, because the film works on the strength of Glazer’s previous influences alone. Meaning that even if the “story” puts you to sleep, I can’t help but think Under the Skin wanted to hypnotize you anyway.
