Under the Skin: A Review

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.

Jonathan Glazer’s third film (after Birth and Sexy Beast) is a truly unique, mindblowing, and utterly thrilling piece of filmmaking which has blown me out of the water. A science fiction thriller, based on the cult novel by Michael Faber, based in Scotland isn’t necessarily the most recognizable film trope, but one which proves its worth tenfold. The film benefits form a successful two act form, divided between the urban turmoil of Glasgow, and the relative harmony of the Scottish highlands. The first act finds us in the most innovative and thrilling segments of the film: we join the recently landed extra-terrestrial as she trawls the streets of Glasgow looking for lone males to lure in, seduce, and eventually harvest for their flesh (a process which isn’t explicitly explained but can be worked out). Through the use of hidden cameras and an extremely confident Johansson, Glazer and co managed to entice random members of the public into the white van: a tiresome procedure, I can imagine, but one received well by the more cocksure alpha males who perhaps fancied their chances. The second act contrasts, as the alien escapes from her motorbike mentor (an enigmatic character to say the least) to the Scottish highlands, where she witnesses both heights of human kindness, and the horrors of human lust and desire. The film benefits well from this change of pace, with a smooth transition from urban to rural ensuring that the film doesn’t become monotonous, particularly with the introduction of new themes.

At the centre of the show, we find an almost unrecognizable Scarlett Johansson, the beautiful Hollywood actress hidden underneath cheap make-up and a jet black wig, which renders her almost anonymous among the scenes of Glasgow’s main shopping precincts. The stone-cold Johansson is utterly compelling and eternally watchable, a resolve which is intensely satisfying considering she remains in the camera frame for almost the entire film. The actress has shown her worth beforehand, both as the loveable ‘girl next door’ in Lost in Translation, and more recently lending her delightful tones to the operating system in Her: in Under the Skin, however, she is unrivalled. Consistently convincing as an alien hidden behind the false visage of the human body, Johansson has mastered the emotionless stare, as if nothing lay behind those big wide eyes. In the seduction scenes, she successfully conveys the animalistic desire for flesh, staring down the prey with the same cold eyes, seeing not a human but rather a target. Most shocking is her unflinching gaze upon a terrifying beach scene, as a man and his wife both get swept out to sea, as she pounces on the Czech tourist who attempts to save them: as she drags away the body, the cries of the baby left behind fill the screen, while Johansson’s emptiness appears nothing but oblivious to this ultimate state of fear of abandonment.

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.