MTFLM: Under The Skin

What is identity, really?

It’s an annoyingly profound question.

If you’re like me, you may have gotten a version of that question as part of your studies in high school or college. There was this philosopher or that philosopher who had a good framework, not so much for eating that elephant of a question, but for organizing all the pieces so it seemed less intimidating.

Then, you did the reading, passed the test, and got on with whatever else needed to be got on with. Maybe, every so often, you’d attempt to answer that question once more at the start of a major life event, or after a devastating loss. Whatever the reasons to resurrect that question, you could never really find a satisfying answer.

Jonathan Glazer’s Under The Skin (2013) is the rare film that doesn’t seek to provide an answer to the question of identity. Instead, it pulls up a chair and asks you to sit in the miasma that is existential uncertainty. Its restrained dynamics, deeply metaphorical use of black and white, and oscillations between real and unreal worlds make this film is another excellent entry in the MTFLM canon.

Location, Location, Location

The film centers around a female figure, an alien, but it’s not indicated by her appearance. She has no name, almost zero backstory, and only a handful of lines, but the omission of these details is not an accident. As the film reveals, they are intentionally unimportant because we are watching a world unfold through the eyes of someone (something) we cannot relate to.

Let’s say she was an alien who also happened to be named “Amanda”. Maybe you know an Amanda. If you do, your mind will attempt to compare that Amanda to this one. You’d start rooting for (or against) this character more than you would if you hadn’t formed that connection. We are forbidden from attaching our identity to her because it’s counterintuitive to the story that’s being told. It’s the same reason I don’t want to meet my heroes. I’m a tall oaf with a big head; meeting someone famous just gives me data points on how comparatively shorter and less oafish they all appear to be.

So, where does this void of characterization leave us?

If we can’t see ourselves in this character’s values or the backstory from which those values originated, then we can only focus on what we can see. The brain reflexively fixates on the world she occupies. There’s multiple moments where I almost forgot this is a movie starring Scarlet Johansson - an A-lister if there ever was one. We should feel at ease that she’s there, but the time she isn’t on screen is filled with faraway shots of people in cities, forests, and the ocean - often from the window of a car.

You’re left with an uncomfortable feeling of voyeurism because of how many character details and plot devices have been redacted. This creates a heightened intensity with which we view this world. We’re not watching Scarlet Johansson watch someone drown and do nothing, WE are watching someone drown and do nothing.

Under these circumstances, we have no choice but to feel connected to the world, if not by choice, then out of quiet desperation. As we prowl the city streets while the alien hunts for victims, you almost want to call out, to ask for help because you feel trapped too. You want to take off running into the barren Scottish highlands, because, maybe, there’s a chance for you to return to earth and the warm embrace of mundane familiarity.

Color

Color is used sparingly in this film. There’s plenty of ambient tones coming from the film’s real-world locations, but it’s all coated in a rather drab palette. These hues don’t serve much purpose other than to remind you that this isn’t shot in black-and-white. Similar to Johansson’s lack of backstory, having locations come across as overly vibrant and colorful sets the wrong tone for the film’s unsettling premise.

Though it’s sparsely used, there are sequences that incorporate more vibrant colors. The most notable of which occurs after the alien has lured her second victim to back to her hideout. The poor soul sinks into the black substance, and we are introduced to the perspective of those who have been caught.

It’s completely dark, except for a pale blue that paints the victim’s nude skin. You as the viewer start to feel uneasy; there’s very little sound or motion in this sequence, so you start routing what little visual information you do have to your other senses. What does blue feel like? It’s a nonsensical question, but questions like these are the result of a patiently horrific depiction of prey realizing it has become prey.

Immediately after this scene is an equally confusing visual, only red has replaced blue as the key accent color. There’s a deep red at the end of what appears to be a long metallic chute. There’s very little motion until it’s discovered that an ambiguous sludge is flowing down the path. If blue feels cold, then this red feels hot. Sweaty. Claustrophobic. Discomfort exists on a spectrum, and we feel both extremes within in a key moment of this film because of the color choices.

Composition and Movement

Traditional film theory tends to emphasize the importance of characters in front of a mirror. Just like in real life, it’s a sight of ourselves in somebody else. We get a chance to assess things, see how we’re doing with what’s happened so far.

Perhaps the most impressive element of Under the Skin is its use of mirrors and reflections. They are used in several clever ways, and always for a different purpose. In the first half of the film, the mirror is a tool. She (it?) uses one to apply lipstick, or to catch a glimpse of a possible target as she drives past. Her reflection is a indication of how she is seen by others.

In the second half, her reflection becomes something else, something less…visible. In what I believe is the best moment in the film, we find the alien in front of a full body mirror. She’s completely nude, but not vulnerable. She appears to be expressing a frightened curiosity with what she’s seeing.

After a moment, she starts moving. It’s less dancing, more triangulating. Her limbs slowly move through the air like capsules on a space station. She’s watching, looking at it all, trying to understand something about what she is.

We’ve always been the observer, but in this moment, so is she. In this moment, she’s equally confused about what she is and what her purpose might be. She has become the reflection.

As You Can See…

I took a ton of notes for this film. Having spun them into a few hundred words, I can confirm that it’s nearly impossible to pin down what this movie “means”. There’s plenty of ideas out there, and if you’ve seen it, you probably have your own as well.

Nevertheless, Under the Skin feels like a movie (and belongs in the MTFLM library) because of its vacancies. Its ability to present you with original interpretations of a familiar genre, but without catering to those familiarities, is why it feels so unique. It can be fun to come up with theories and thematic analyses for awhile. This newsletter is all about dancing around in that liminal space a film’s tangible components and their intangible reactions.

However, movies aren’t assignments. By design, this one is disorienting and often pretty vague, but precision isn’t necessarily a requirement of significance. Sometimes, all that’s needed is a person with an idea to say, “may I show you something?”, and that’s what this newsletter is all about.

Thank you for your time.

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Stills for MTFLM by FilmGrab