I promised myself that I wouldn’t do reviews: anyone and everyone
can do reviews, and they so rarely offer any insight into the film itself, but
simply just another set of stars to attach to the poster, or another ten
reasons why this film isn’t ‘fun for all the family’. But once in a while, a
film comes along which warrants this 1000 odd words of praise, a film which
stands out among the rest, and I have to say that film this year is Under the Skin.


Most impressive about Johansson’s performance, however, is the
gradual transition towards empathy, a trait which appears more and more towards
the second half: after luring in a grossly deformed man, she appears to take
pity on his sense of loneliness and isolation, allowing him to leave the lair
unharmed. Her journey into the Highlands, furthermore finds her drawn in by an
incredible hospitable Samaritan: we gradually see her affection towards him, as
her curiosity with the human race, as well as the contours and features of her
own naked body, grows. Essentially, however, she is reminded of the fact that
she is not human, and does not belong here: she spits out food in disgust, and
jumps away hastily mid-sex. Her ultimate demise is that she finds love for the human
people, but can never truly be one, and it is this tragedy which Johansson so
effectively carries throughout her performance.
The comparisons to other directing greats has been drawn from all
angles: heralded as the ‘heir to Kubrick’, using the same unflinching
cinematography and slow movement as the 2001 director. The opening three
minutes of space, psychedelic colour, and transformation evoke the ‘acid trip’
finale of 2001: A Space Odyssey,
while the use of monochromatic reflective surfaces, especially in the alien’s lair,
remind us of the space age technology first imagined by Kubrick. The Observer
film critic Mark Kermode draws the inspiration from Nicolas Roeg, in particular
his Man Who Fell to Earth, citing
the same tale of stranger in a strange land gradually finding solace among the
human people, a weakness which eventually proves to be his downfall. To draw
these comparisons, however, I feel would be inaccurate, and perhaps even
unfair. Glazer here has carved his own style: too real to be Kubrick, and too
convincing to be Roeg, Glazer manages to toe the line between reality and
fantasy without ever falling too deeply into both. Accompanying the eery visuals is Mica Levi’s chilling score: an immensely powerful exposition, the
scratching of strings and trembling of keys unsettling throughout, interwoven
perfectly with the imagery on screen.
Glazer’s film is by no means an Oscar-winning film: one can assume
he deliberately brought it out at this time to avoid the whole annoyance of
Oscar punditry and prediction. It is, however, a piece of art and science in
itself: a powerful exposition of stunningly crafted camerawork, a phenomenal
central performance, and a fascinating insight into human nature and
experience, and the true meaning of what it is to be a stranger.