I'm on a self-imposed mission to see every worthwhile French genre flick, and so far, so good. Still tons to check, but thanks to this rainy, dreary, lazy Saturday afternoon, I'm one more down. Dans Ma Peau (translated to In My Skin), a film from 2002 that I've read in the same graphs as other Viva La France! gems like Inside and Irreversible. Which was all I needed.
In My Skin is a pretty fascinating watch. A creeping, subdued pace, gore with a purpose, a mesmerizing lead performance. The star is Marina de Van, a veteran screenwriter who makes her directorial debut here, and appears in pretty much every frame. She's strikingly beatiful, and it's tough to peel your eyes away from her. Eyes, in fact, are the first thing you're drawn to on de Van, two glassy, vacant, cloudy peepers that peer into the scenery with a dazed yet still focused attentiveness. Then, there's her pale skin, giving her a ghostly demeanor, which works like gangbusters for "Esther," her character here, who gradually loses herself to a sudden addiction---self-mutiliation. A random accident slices her left leg up, yet rather than let the wounds heal, she becomes obsessed with them, feeling them up, further digging in, and ultimately adding extra, and often times much more gruesome, cuts all over the rest of her delicate body. As the addiction gets worse, she sees her world crumbling: her relationship cracks and becomes heavily dramatic; a recent promotion is slowly foiled as her actions become counter-productive; and a close friend is ostracized for showing concerns about Esther's newfound cut-and-no-paste job-bing.
It's a rather straightforward narrative, and in spots it feels a tad sluggish. Everything is earned, though, and each scene serves a purpose within De Van's thematical approach. But as a viewer, the slug-like tempo nearly lost me. Sure, I could feel the growing loss of her dementia, so de Van's execution was working. But I was hoping things would really derail (sorry, I myself, like those Frenchies, am a sick sick fuck, I've determined).
And oh my, did they. Nothing of Cannibal Holocaust levels, but still pretty crazy. And here's where I became an In My Skin fan. Not a lover of it, per say, but somebody who'd recommend it, for sure.
My personal favorite part is this increasingly-awkward business dinner scene. Right after her promotion, Esther and her boss take a couple of clients (Esther has been appointed to head a Middle East division of marketing and advertising for an unnamed company) out for a fancy meal. While seated at the restuarant, Esther, who never drinks, begins swigging some wine, and--what I determined as a side effect of being hammered--she sees her left sitting on the table, unseen by anybody else, but detached from her elbow downward. She then hides it under the table, and then begins jabbing at it with her steak knife, blood pouring out in the process. All the while, her dinner companions talk and talk, though they notice her disconnect. She then glances at the tables surrounding her, and grows agitated and antsy as people slice into red-as-hell steaks, and peel apart shrimp.
It's the equivalent of cigarette/nicotine addict trying to kick the habit yet finding his/herself surrounded by chain smokers, blowing clouds of puff-ness into his/her face. Expectedly so, Esther snaps as a result. Rents a hotel room, locks herself in without any loved ones even knowing she's there, and really goes to town on herself with a razor-sharp blade. But this whole sequence is artfully done, and shows de Van as a damn-fine director and filmmaker. The screen suddenly splits, and we can tell that Esther is really digging in (pun intended), but we only see side-views, and glimpses of dripping and oozing blood, and mangled skin and limbs. It's a truly disorienting thing to watch.
By this point in the film, the whole "addiction allegory" theme, or at least a theme I pulled from it, really hits front street. Her lover is repulsed and bothered by her change in attitude, and her job is heading toward Jeopardy Lane, which sends her deeper and deeper into despair, causing deeper and deeper cuts and slashes into her own skin. It's a real family film, huh?
In My Skin, again, is just plain fascinating. Can't say I adore it, but I certainly respect it, especially considering how I'm still thinking about it and digesting the imagery and themes a good two hours after watching. It should be said, however, that I'm not happy with the ending---one of those "what the fuck, that's it??" conclusions. It just ends, after a pretty climactic self-mutilation episode that could've been explored more, or at least deserves to be followed by her lover or friends reacting to it. But it goes the way of The Sopranos' finale, and it frustrated me.
But still, In My Skin is a good one. The way it explores the facets of addiction, by replacing drugs and other vices with something as taboo and wince-worthy as cutting yourself and violating your own body, is quite provocative. Sort of like an early-David Cronenberg film, and achieving an early-Cronenberg comparison is never a bad thing.
And any film that can make an otherwise-nauseating scene where its female star is licking her own blood as she slices open her legs feel like a sensual moment is worth a gander. Sounds sick? I know, I know, but trust me, it's kinda hot. de Van plays it as unabashedly masturbatory, a real sexual thrill. Moaning, breathing heavy. Sighing. She's getting off, and you'd have to sans hormones not to find it a bit kinky. And sexy.
I know, I know. A sick sick fuck....hmm, pun intended there, too.
.jpeg)
No comments:
Post a Comment