REVIEW: Under the Skin

Jonathan Glazer's third feature film comes ten years after 2004's Birth. What he was doing during those ten years is unclear, but quite a bit of it must have been spent trying to convince people that this film would work, an often intangible mix of science fiction and a road movie with horror elements. Sort of. I walked out of the cinema unsure of what, exactly, I had just seen, but I'm glad Glazer succeeded in releasing this film, for a world without Under the Skin would be a far less rich and interesting one.

To even try and describe what this film is about would be a disservice, but one could possible summarise with this; an alien seductress (who goes throughout the film unnamed, but who is labelled as Laura in the production specs) travels around Glasgow and surrounding areas of Scotland in her van, preying on men and luring them to their deaths.

If you've seen the film, you know that barely scratches the surface of what it's about. From its indescribable opening to its hauntingly beautiful climax, the film constantly challenges the viewer to think and respond to it, creating some incredibly experimental and effective moments. A scene on a beach with a family is simultaneously one of the most terrifying and devastating things I've ever seen in film. Another sequence, where Laura wanders through the crowds in a shopping centre, will challenge your perception of the people who pass you every day. I could spend the majority of this review praising the astonishing sound design (you'll never hear the sound of a screaming child in the same way again) or the unforgettable abstract imagery we see throughout, such as a sequence where a man's body literally crumples.

Yet ultimately there are two very clever tricks this film pulls which make it work. One is setting the story in Scotland, a land as equally hostile and outlandish as the alien dimension from which the protagonist originates, and one which grounds the more abstract ideas in an often comically mundane reality. The other is the casting of Scarlett Johansson as Laura, whose status as a big-name Hollywood actress would seem out of place in this very low-budget art house British film. Nonetheless, after seeing Under the Skin, it's difficult to imagine anyone else in the role. Johansson is one of those impossibly beautiful actresses who seems forever out of reach. We can see them in their films and on talk shows but, as a typical British filmgoer, we know that they are part of a completely different world, and we can never truly know someone like that. And that's what makes the character in this film so interesting. Never before has a film so perfectly captured the sense of extra-terrestrial unfamiliarity; Scarlett Johansson is an alien, and her presence prompts a similar response to those of the fine selection of Scottish men her character lures into her lair, that of completely mesmerised awe. The film then proceeds to try and take apart this fascinatingly enigmatic character, by getting both metaphorically and, at one point, literally under her skin. It's a challenge for the viewer to follow Glazer's vision, but one which is incredibly rewarding.

You will leave this film with more questions than answers, such as why Laura decides to kill the men she seduces, or the perplexing significance of the man on the motorbike. To find concrete answers to these questions, however, would be to undermine much of the power of Under the Skin. It is not a film to be explained rationally and logically, but one to be taken in on an emotional level. I've only seen this film once, which may be a mistake - I intend to see it a second (and perhaps third) time, if only to develop my understanding of some of the more obscure elements - but even seeing it once left a truly lasting impression. A modern masterpiece.

★★★★★

REVIEW: The Grand Budapest Hotel

How do you talk about a Wes Anderson film without constantly referring to it as a "Wes Anderson film"? Short answer: you can't. Most directors - not always good directors, but most directors nevertheless - will have some kind of visual or thematic flourish which acts as a directorial signature on the work. Anderson has about fifty. His work is so recognisable, so separate from the majority of modern cinematic releases, that in any significant analysis of his films it is impossible to divorce the man from his fiction, and this is no less true in his latest offering.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is both a farce and a reflective depiction of wartime Europe in the 1930s. It tells the story of Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes), a world-famous concierge at the eponymous European hotel, who takes young lobby boy Zero Moustafa (Tony Revolori) under his wing. A whimsical plot unfolds, revolving around the theft of a priceless painting from his old lover (Tilda Swinton) whose murder Gustave is framed for. It's entertaining, considered, and shouldn't be dismissed as "just another Wes Anderson film", although all of the major hallmarks are present; as always, Anderson's shots and compositions are perfect, even obsessive, and the use of warm, vibrant colour here is better than ever. But what struck me most about this film was the deeply nostalgic tone, more so than any other Anderson has made. He uses the 4:3 ratio throughout most of the film, and The Grand Budapest Hotel reminded me of older, classic films of the 20s and 30s - films most of today's audiences would be unaware of - through a wonderful evocation of its period. There's a charming (and deliberate) use of miniatures for some of the exterior shots of the hotel with the cable cars leading up to it, and my favourite scene in the film came towards the end, when the two protagonists chase the villain down a ski slope - the tiny figurines in place of characters during wide shots is an old-school trick, one which reminds you that you're watching a film, but it's made with such charm and verve that you can't help but be swept along by it.

Regarding the tone, the film does a wonderful thing where it manages to be light and fun without being breezy. In the mix of absurd situations and larger-than-life characters there's an undercurrent of sincerity, probably best represented by an excellent performance from Ralph Fiennes. Excluding some scene-stealing support from Harvey Keitel and Jeff Goldblum, Fiennes completely owns this film; like Bill Murray in The Life Aquatic and Gene Hackman in The Royal Tenenbaums, he unites the ensemble under his enigmatic Gustave H. Effortlessly filling the role, at once charming, crude, promiscuous yet lovable ("She was dynamite in the sack, by the way", referring to an 84-year-old woman), the film instantly confirms Fiennes' status as a brilliant comedic actor, his timing perhaps even better here than his expletive-filled performance from In Bruges. He also manages to bring an unexpected amount of dramatic gravitas to the role, balancing the one-liners with the development of an affecting paternal bond with Revolori's Zero. It is this which makes the comedy all the richer, since throughout the film we are reminded of the more serious historical reality of the time (one scene shot in black and white might just be one of the saddest scenes in Anderson's career).

Perhaps the only time the film loses its footing is when it features moments of darker, nastier humour. A shot of a cat's splattered carcass drew more winces than laughter from the audience, as did a prolonged shot of a severed head being extracted from a box - more Se7en than Steve Zissou. Still, this is a minor quibble in an otherwise consistently excellent film, which I would urge you to go and see if only to serve as a whimsical antidote to the typically serious and desaturated world of the mainstream blockbuster. However, a small warning: you will sincerely crave cake afterwards.

★★★★