When all the doors and windows and dads in their house disappear, two children drag all of their blankets and pillows and toys in front of the telly and basically decide to sit it out – but, in case the sudden architectural anomaly didn’t tip you off, there’s something sinister and supernatural going on.
Taking place entirely from the naïve (though oddly plucky) perspective of the kids, Skinamarink attempts to capture the all-encompassing mysticism and total terror that encapsulates the child’s-eye-view. This is a noble undertaking, and a fine premise, but it isn’t all good news. Most of what I’ve written in the previous two paragraphs comes from Wikipedia or IMDb, because Skinamarink isn’t the kind of film that just lets its viewer in on what’s going on. It doesn’t even like to hint at what’s going on. The entire film – which, at 100 minutes, makes what would be a reasonable length for most films, seem like an endurance test – is a series of mostly drawn-out, mostly static shots, mostly without any human being visible, and mostly from a small number of angles, so that we see certain things over and over. Some particular favourites seem to include the corner of the bed, the corner of hallway ceiling, and the flickering CRT that only seems to show that special channel that exists in movieland, and only in movieland: the one that plays nothing but creepy, black-and-white public domain cartoons – there aren’t even any ad breaks. When I was only wee, I had a VHS of that type of cartoon, and I loved it, until it got destroyed. I wish this channel existed in real life.
Aside from the fact that, for now, old and janky cartoons look creepier to us than the more plausible (given its 90s setting) SpongeBob or The Simpsons – who knows what our grandchildren will find old and creepy? – the fact these are public domain films also fits Skinamarink‘s defiantly lo-fi creed. The majority of the dialogue is inaudible, it’s only occasionally subtitled, “props department” would cost less than £30 at any car boot sale; heck, this film barely goes in for something as fancy as lighting. And all of this may be instructive to someone keen on making a movie over a week or two for under $1m, but that approach has given us classics like Night of the Living Dead, The Evil Dead, The Blair Witch Project and, outside of horror, Kevin Smith’s Clerks. It doesn’t have to be this way.
How many times have you seen something hyped as the latest sensation in horror cinema, only to find yourself bored nearly to tears? This sort of thing goes back at least as far as 1973’s The Exorcist, so if you find yourself defaulting to doubt each new time you hear it, from The Ring to Paranormal Activity to Hereditary, don’t worry, because one, it doesn’t mean you’ve grown old and cynical, and two, Skinamarink won’t bore you to tears. It doesn’t hold enough narrative interest for that. The state of being bored to tears suggests frustration, like a story that you’d like to see the outcome of, but it just moves too slowly or doesn’t seem to be going anywhere interesting.
Certainly, Skinamarink pushes the boundaries of cinematic experience. It’s not an experience akin to watching a film; it’s more like one of those frustrating – and sometimes, quite frightening – half-awake dreams where you can’t move, or think straight. Or, or maybe it’s like – and this has never happened to me – but maybe if you watched something unsettling take place over a live feed – a webcam, say – and were powerless to do anything, the experience might be akin to this film. If you go in with that approach, and you’re the kind of person who finds it easy to let the power of suggestion take hold of your imagination, you might get something out of Skinamarink. “Make your own fun” is all very well when we’re talking about Minecraft, or LEGO (which, incidentally, is heavily featured here), but it’s not usually requested of film audiences. What looks to some like one of the most creative horror films in years, might look to others – I’d count myself among them – as a striking lack of creativity, using an untraditional format to tell what turns out to be a shockingly banal and unoriginal horror story. While there are a couple of reasonably effective moments – though even a film this seemingly experimental can’t resist the old, cheap jump scare – Skinamarink does nothing in its 100 minutes that it couldn’t have done more effectively in just ten. Even its short film predecessor, “Heck”, which is available free on YouTube, tests the patience at 28 minutes, and is still recommended over its feature equivalent.
★☆☆☆☆