Skinamarink: An Inherent Risk
I like ambiguous movies, but they carry an inherent risk: the outcome winds up either being worth your time, or a grift that leaves you feeling angry and cheated. I front-load a lot of good faith toward experimental movies, but at some point, the experiment needs to deliver – at least a teensy tiny bit – on its hypothesis.
Before going any further, I want to clarify two things about my screening of Skinamarink, as they may play into my take on the film overall:
- I had a slight headache; and
- I was seated in the very front of the theater.
I mention both these things because, well…I was rather unprepared for the aggressive aesthetics employed by writer-director Kyle Edward Ball.
What Does it All Mean?
Evoking an amateurish, shot-on-video look by using only ambient light (overhead fixtures; the harsh glow of a TV screen), Skinamarink frequently becomes muddy to the point where you’re looking at a literal, writhing film-grain fuck-fest.
But what does it all mean?
The audio is also primitive, with dialog and sound effects muffled by what must be a Fisher-Price microphone on the far side of the room. Does this tie into the fact that the film’s POV is that of two children who spend most of the 100-minute run time talking in fearful, hushed tones?
Seriously, now…what does it all mean?
These elements do create a particular mood, which is complemented by Ball’s relentless low-angle shots (often looking up at the ceiling from floor-level) and the decision to – with a few fleeting exceptions – keep every character’s face obscured.
Throwing Lego Around
The story, such as it is, has two siblings – Kevin (Lucas Paul) and Kaylee (Dali Rose Tetreault) – who find themselves trapped(?) in their home. Two unnamed parents are present, but passive to the point of paralysis; they are only “seen” seated on the edge of the martial bed. Eventually, a distorted voice starts calling out to the children from within the darkness of the home.
I have a couple wild stabs at what all of this might mean: maybe it’s a metaphor for child abuse (inhabiting a space with no escape); maybe the stuff with the parents is alluding to spousal abuse (an image of spattered blood appears, disappears, then reappears); maybe it’s about dissociative disorder; or maybe the distorted voice is a figment of the children’s collective imagination.
Or maybe it’s just about kids throwing Lego around and sitting too close to the TV while watching cartoons, because fuck this shit, amirite?
Unspoken Fatigue
I tried to sync to Skinamarink’s rhythm, and tolerated it up to the halfway point, after which I felt a certain unspoken fatigue settle in among the dozen or so people at my screening. It doesn’t help that Ball uses the sound recording as a method of cueing loud jump scares (all of which worked on me, but to what end?), which break up the monotony while not adding much to the overall experience. This becomes even more frustrating as this meandering film drags on through a half-dozen false endings.
In being unable to anchor the experience of Skinamarink to an actual physical face, Ball positions the viewer as a corollary to his young characters. United, we experience the events subjectively, bearing witness to whatever surprises lie in wait around the house’s perpetually dark (and grainy…oh so grainy) corners.
Which is all fine and good – some of my favorite movies center around protagonists caught in situations they cannot comprehend, turning the plot into a series of (usually unpleasant) surprises. Polanski’s “Apartment Trilogy” wouldn’t be remembered today if Carol, Rosemary, and Trelkovsky spent the last act on a psychiatrist’s couch.
The Figurative Mosquito
What’s missing from Skinamarink is the figurative mosquito taking bites at my brain.
Allow me to explain: the mosquito (or your nagging insect of choice) settles in, annoys, and prolongs the experience of the movie. It won’t stop buzzing. The mosquito makes me think long and hard on a film’s aesthetics and themes, to the point where it’s impossible to shake the excitement of subsequent viewings.
But with Skinamarink, the mosquito is annoying me for all the wrong reasons. There’s not a hint of gristle – let alone actual meat – on this thing; it’s the brittle bones of a single-sentence plot outline somehow stretched to feature length.
What does it all mean?
Not a whole hell of a lot.
1 out of 5 stars
The Plot Sickens: Jonny Numb takes a stab at Halloween Ends!
Crash Analysis Support Team
Jonny Numb
Jonny Numb (aka Jonathan Weidler) only disrobes before writing a review. He co-hosts The Last Knock horror podcast and occasionally pops up on Movies Films & Flix. His writing on non-horror cinema can be found periodically at The Screening Space.
THE LAST KNOCK horror podcast is a Crash Palace Productions’ featured show. Besides this site, you can find THE LAST KNOCK on iTunes and Spotify and more, with new shows posted every other Sunday at 9 PM ET.
Crash Palace Productions website design and creation from Brian Yount Digital Enterprises with banner and THE LAST KNOCK art from Palko Designs. Logo designs from Paul Belci.
(Skinamarink movie still from IFC Midnight.)