An alien Scar Jo prowls Scotland in Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin
In some circles dropping the name Kubrick is like throwing down a gauntlet. Since his passing in 1999 more than a few ambitious auteurs — P.T. Anderson and Christopher Nolan to name two — have found themselves primed as heir to the late master some more deservedly than others.
Enter Under the Skin . Since making waves on the festival circuit last fall many critics have positioned England’s Jonathan Glazer as the latest to grapple with the legendary figure. In a sense it’s easy to see why. Only Glazer’s third feature following the much lauded Sexy Beast (2000) and the cult-favourite Birth (2004) the film feels like a major work: Cool creepy and obviously the work of a highly refined vision.
Adopted from Michel Faber’s novel the film is undeniably beholden to science fiction though far more interested in the genre as a means to explore other goals. The film explicitly recalls at points the sterile interiors of 2001: A Space Odyssey — especially during its unforgettable opening “creation” scene played out over the manic frigid strings of Mica Levi’s extraordinary score — but if Under the Skin can be called Kubrickian it’s in its attitude: formalist and focused. Glazer is hyper-attuned to several of film’s most basic elements: lighting editing sound and silence.
In perhaps her finest role to date Scarlett Johansson swaps her signature blond for a raven-black shag embodying a determined alien whose mission finds her cruising the streets of Glasgow in a van looking for men. A series of minor interactions on the street — some in fact candid filmed with cameras hidden in the specially-rigged van — finds more than a couple men accepting her offer for a ride. Unfortunately it’s their last.
Grounding its science-fiction elements in the real world never letting the human element stray too far from the frame at times the film seems like a curious flip-side to last year’s Her which featured Johansson performing by voice alone. Under the Skin on the other hand is above all concerned with the corporeal. All but mute Johansson rarely speaks and only when necessary — her steely regard and smile revealing far more than words.
This eerie prowl occupies much of the plot until one late-night encounter with a disfigured young man suffering from neurofibromatosis (a.k.a. “Elephant Man’s disease”) seems to trigger a latent humanism in Johansson’s character. The exploration of this characteristic propels the narrative’s second half. One can’t help but shake a nagging feeling that the exchange between the two feels somehow exploitative or cheap but that remains for each viewer to decide.
Glazer clearly isn’t keen to give too much away though as Johansson’s attempts to explore or understand humanity play out the film gradually feels less ambitious or ambiguous than it could be. While the narrative reorientation could be far more painful – Glazer thankfully focuses on lived minutiae in lieu of grand existential questions (there are no scenes of Johansson with fists raised pleading for a soul) — it does feel like a disappointingly unimaginative plot turn for what developed as a wholly fresh work.
Narrative shortcomings aside the film remain a formal wonder far more concerned with atmosphere and a rigorous engagement with the basics of film language. Almost every shot feels so assured and precise that it lingers long after it’s gone while the jagged strings rattling bass and deep reverb of Levi’s score feel both ever-present and evasive.
It makes sense that a filmmaker who has worked so intimately with music videos would be keenly aware of the magic that can emerge simply through sound and image. The title of “the next Kubrick” might not apply to Glazer yet but there’s no denying his increasing talent in Under the Skin ’s many perverse pleasures.
