If you’ve never had a full-blown panic attack, well, first off, congratulations. You’re living the dream. Secondly, you should probably know that they’re no fun whatsoever. Nobody ever huddled in a corner with a debilitating shortness of breath and a stun-locked brain has come out the other side thinking, “Now, THAT’s entertainment!”
So it’s funny that so many movies try to entertain us by throwing their protagonists into panic mode and making the audience share that anxiety. Even great films sometimes do the job a little too well (“Uncut Gems,” I’m looking at you). Fortunately for me and everyone else in the audience, Austin Peters’ “Skincare” knows exactly what it’s doing, balancing a sense of total desperation with just enough camp to convey its nightmarish situations without ruining your day. It’s a smart and promising debut feature from Peters, whose recent music videos for country star Orville Peck also demonstrated his masterful control of tone.
Elizabeth Banks stars as Hope Goldman, a skincare specialist whose wealthy celebrity clientele keep her business afloat. She lives in Los Angeles so God only knows what her rent is, and it makes sense that she’s behind on it. All her money is wrapped up in an ambitious line of skin care products — made in Italy! — but they aren’t on the market yet. All Hope has to do is stall her landlord, do a TV interview, and wait a few weeks for her ship to finally come in.
Then, because life is hell, everything falls apart. A competing skincare clinic opens right across the courtyard, stealing her business. Someone hacks her emails and sends lurid messages to everyone she knows and works with. Her tires gets slashed, her TV interview gets bumped, disturbing fake personal ads are posted on Craig’s List, and just so we’re clear none of this is funny.
That’s good, because it shouldn’t be. Austin Peters co-wrote the screenplay with Sam Freillich and Deering Regan, and they all keep the tone deceptively light for a while. The film takes place in a world full of superficial and duplicitous people, and Peters doesn’t seem to think highly of them. They deserve a poke in the ribs. But just because they’re laughable, that doesn’t mean we should be laughing.
Elizabeth Banks is a talented comedian, capable of bubbly levity. Hope Goldman is desperate to be liked and Banks maintains a veneer of cheerfulness as long as possible. But under the surface — the skin, if we must — she’s cracking under the pressure, and the pressure is increasingly horrifying. Banks does an excellent job of modulating her panic and her smiling façade, eliciting our sympathy even when she makes horrible choices, because what options did she have?
There’s an element of “Skincare” that’s universally relatable: the sense that your life is completely collapsing, the fear of financial ruin. But as “Skincare” progresses it increases the magnification and focuses on how men ignore, neglect, exploit and abuse women. Hope’s life is destroyed by the ambitions of men who either want to hurt her or don’t care if she gets hurt. “Skincare is a cutthroat business,” Hope tells TV anchorman Brett Wright (Nathan Fillion). “Business is a cutthroat business,” he replies, just minutes before he proves his point in a pathetic and despicable display.
The identity of Hope’s stalker is a mystery that “Skincare” is interested in solving, not because the reveal is a shocker, but because the motive is so revealing. When the turn finally comes, Austin Peters’ film twists into a different kind of a narrative. Less a thriller than an old-fashioned Hollywood exposé, the sort of “ripped from the headlines” true crime story that fascinates us in ways we’re not proud of. Watching people make a terrible mess is hypnotic, and watching them try to worm out of the trash pile is a little repulsive and oddly inspiring. After all, the more broken our lives become, the more bystanders will want to sift through the debris. And probably buy a piece of it.
“Skincare” opens exclusively in theaters on Aug. 16.
