Jonathan Glazer’s creepy, disturbing science-fiction film, starring Scarlett Johansson as an alien embodiment of a Venus flytrap, is hauntingly meaningless; a circuitous journey of a lusciously robotic fake -female, as she victimizes real men in her quest to adapt to an unfamiliar world.
Johansson has the attributes and uses them skillfully: cultured English accent paired with barely distinguishable Scottish brogues; a borrowed facade that intrigues her when confronted with a mirror; unflinching, barely blinking she epitomizes a being with no cognizance of the human condition. There is a harrowing scene in which she observes a drowning; a solitary, howling child on a desolate shore is left, as insignificant as a grain of sand.
At times blazingly beautiful; Scotland’s undulating countryside, the astral descent of the alien; slick, black, obliterating void; reminiscent of the glorious cinematography in Terrence Malick’s “Tree of Life”; regardless the film is cold, enervating, insignificant.
Eventually what is “under the skin” is revealed; the revelation was not worth the price of admission.