Scarlett Johansson Under The Skin Naked
When a strange and unclassifiable beast walks into the world, the public has a tendency to split down the middle. I campsite is beguiled and the other repulsed. Such is the experience of the vampiric infinite conflicting played by Scarlett Johansson in Under the Skin, and then information technology is with the film itself. Jonathan Glazer's extraordinary slice of outsider fine art – the director's first feature since 2004's Nascence – was greeted at Venice by an fifty-fifty split up of cheering and boos.
A pox on the cat-callers; they tin boo themselves hoarse. Under the Skin is far and abroad the best picture in the competition so far: a story that plays as a kind of malarial dream, bathed in common cold sweat and seeing hallucinations in every corner. Johansson proves bizarrely engrossing every bit the unnamed succubus, fetchingly augmented with jet-black hair and blood-ruby-red lipstick, who drives a van around Scotland in search of her casualty. The men she meets are bored and horny and can't believe their good fortune. The alien duly lures them in with polite, persistent questions, barely pausing to hear the replies. Then she ushers each homo downwardly the steps into a pool of viscid fluid where they spot the bodies of former victims, floating naked in the gloom like Bluebeard's wives.
We are never told where this alien is from or what she's doing, exactly, although the flick takes its atomic number 82 from a 2001 novel past Michel Faber. Slice it open and ane realises that Under the Skin is really a hybrid of two hackneyed flick genres. It's indebted on the one side to the psychosexual horror movie in which feckless, brawny youths receive their comeuppance and, on the other, to those fish-out-of-water capers (like ET, or even Splash) about kooky visitors from the wide blue yonder. And still the director works a magic on this material. He takes tired old prose and spins it into verse.
In a perfect world, Glazer would win the top prize on Sunday and not take to await another nine years before he makes his next film. Just we do not live in a perfect earth, and Under the Skin is maybe best viewed as an icy parable of honey, sex and loneliness. The director leads united states between empty seashores and cacophonous nightclubs. He turns a hidden photographic camera on the streets of Scotland and watches unnoticed as the people shop and smoke and tap out their texts.
Increasingly, it seems, Johansson wants to discover a place in this throng. Only try as she might, she tin can't quite fit. The Telly gear up is a mystery, and the slice of chocolate block only sticks in her throat. Driving on the road, she encounters a young man pariah, a young man with a bone deformity, who shops by night and has no friends. A fiddling subsequently nosotros shall see this figure again, wandering naked and bewildered on the outskirts of town, just another lost soul who's in search of a dwelling house.
Exclusive video of Under the Skin
Source: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2013/sep/03/under-the-skin-review
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