UNDER THE SKIN

Directed by Jonathan Glazer, written by Walter Cambpell based on the novel by Michael Faber. Starring Scarlett Johansson. 1 hr., 48 min.

Released in Taiwan on July 18, 2014 by Maison Motion.

It feels overly simplistic to say that Jonathan Glazer’s “Under the Skin” is a contemplation on what it means to be human; it would be like saying “The Godfather” is about a son with his own plans for the future reluctantly joining the family business. Maybe that’s because the film realizes that by asking the question, it is wading into a philosophical minefield and accordingly, instead of barreling ahead, treads cautiously.

Based on the novel by Michael Faber, writer-director Glazer’s adaptation eschews detailed exposition for mood and observation, quietly drawing the audience not only into the world Scarlett Johansson’s alien femme fatale is arriving in (i.e., Earth; more specifically, Scotland), but also, into her mission here (in a word, “seduction”; in a second word, “hunting”).

Similarly, dialogue is kept at a minimum throughout, and the audience may find itself constantly wondering what the characters are thinking: “What is going on under their skin?” Reductive, but surprisingly apropos.

Imagery abounds, suggesting that none of us—including the she-alien—is really that different under the surface: we’re all just meatsuits. But Glazer then subtly pivots and also regards how we all differ, especially deeper down; what is it that keeps us separate and distinct (and at a distance) from each other is one of many nagging questions posed by the film.

Other troublesome questions:

How do we feel about what we see in the mirror? Is it a pure, unadulterated love, the kind we (fear we) might never be able to receive from another being? Or is it some level of ambivalence—maybe even confusion—when what’s on the outside seems so foreign to us, so different from what we know is on the inside?

How do we reach out and connect with other people, and how shocking can it be to be touched by someone, literally or otherwise?

And if we never make that connection, how empty and confusing and lonely of a universe is it? Glazer’s ending might be suggesting that while revealing your true self carries its own set of risks, failing to make any connection would be the ultimate shame, considering how unique and exotically beautiful each of us are deeper beneath the surface.

In any case, Glazer is not looking for or providing easy answers, or any answers at all, for that matter. Like raking a Japanese zen rock garden, the exercise of asking the questions in and of itself may be the meditation.

As meditations go, this one is mesmerizingly cerebral, and worth the challenge.