“I don’t think it’s about the skin you start out with.”
Had Skincare been made as a feature in the 90s, it might have starred a post-Basic Instinct Sharon Stone, a post-Batman Returns Michelle Pfeiffer, or a post-Final Analysis Kim Basinger. It’s the sort of self-contained film that finds a balance between light thriller and dark comedy to create the kind of neo-noir that experienced a significant boom in the early 90s. Its aims are simple- to present a character who is at a place in her life where everything is going right and then watch her become someone she never thought she was in an aim to protect herself from a force that’s trying to destroy her. With a powerhouse performance from its leading lady, a script with just the right tonal blend, and an L.A. landscape so rarely captured on film, Skincare is an exercise that mostly works, even if it does have trouble covering up its dark spots.
Inspired by real-life events, Skincare tells the story of Hope Goldman (Elizabeth Banks), a Los Angeles-based aesthetician who seems to have everything: a roster of high-profile clients, a studio in Hollywood, and a reputation she has spent years building. With her own product launching in stores everywhere in a week, everything in Hope’s life feels perfect. But when an up-and-coming competitor (Luis Gerardo Mendez) sets up shop across the way from her at the same time that signs of sabotage towards her and her brand start to show themselves, Hope finds her world falling apart.
By far, the biggest ace Skincare has up its sleeve is its depiction of L.A. Director Austin Peters takes one of the most recognizable cities in the world and transforms it into a place of pretty desolation where shiny people may exist, but not necessarily around Hope. The L.A. of Skincare echoes that of 2012’s Maniac, or The Canyons, two films that likewise capture the city as a barren place where characters are unable to disappear into the metropolis they thought they were in and are instead forced to be left alone with their demons, both real and imaginary. Paranoia is such a big part of Skincare and grows within Hope in virtually every scene. This makes sense since the L.A. of Skincare this should be one where, in the tradition of many a noir that came before it, feels hopeless. It feels right that Hope should come across as somewhat isolated while battling the monster trying to take her down. But Peters also gives the film a true glow by way of the camera. It’s a glow he holds regardless of what is happening on the screen. The polished prettiness somehow feels true and makes for a great contrast against the plot twists, which happen in subtle and surprising ways without ever having to venture into the realm of full-on sleaze.
It would be fair to assume at this point that Skincare has done everything it needs to succeed as a black comedy/light thriller/neo-noir. While this is true for the most part, the film eventually takes the same route as many of Hope’s clients and all but abandons her. By the end of our tale, plenty of questions remain unanswered including the culprit’s backstory, the complicity of other characters, and, most importantly, the vindication Hope deserved. The biggest of all is the question of why this was all this take-down torture was done to Hope in the first place, something the real-life subject on which the movie is based must’ve asked herself countless times. I can’t speak for the real-life person, but it’s safe to say that Skincare never had a chance at finding a credible explanation either. Instead of any concrete answers, the film chooses to end on a footnote that doesn’t register the way that it otherwise could have if more depth had been given to the events of the previous 90+ minutes and the reasons behind them. Perhaps there was some nervousness on the part of the filmmakers to stray too far from the actual events that might have resulted in compromising the integrity of the story. In this case, though, it might have helped.
Although she’s given great aid by the likes of Lewis Pullman, Michaela Jae Rodriguez, Mendez, and Nathan Fillion, Skincare is Banks’ venture through and through. The actress’s career as a leading lady has struggled to find its footing at times with regard to the types of projects that seemed right for her but sold her short. With Skincare, the right vehicle has found the right actress, bringing out a tour-de-force performance that straddles a multitude of lines. In Banks’ hands, Hope doesn’t fall into many of the traditional stereotypes assigned to female characters. Hope is not conventionally ruthless, nor is she an immoral person. Instead, Banks plays her as a survivalist, whose instinct for survival only intensifies the more the walls close in around her. But the actress also wisely gives her vulnerability sprinkled with moments of humor, such as in one recurring bit that sees her offering complimentary moisturizer to anyone she encounters while flashing her camera-ready smile even amid panic and desperation.
My sole reason for watching and reviewing Skincare was because of my boyfriend. While we both enjoyed the film, my other half seemed to be more into it than me, so much so that he spent some time the following day looking up the real-life counterpart of Hope Goldman to find out her true story. According to what he found, most of the events in Skincare do stay true to life but stop short of delving into anything beyond the mere obsession factor that served as the movie’s overall theme and central reason for its events. It was then that I felt compelled to give Skincare a bit of a pass and accept that maybe the reason that any questions went unanswered could be because the answers themselves weren’t all that interesting, or at least, not cinematic. One item of consequence is that the real-life Hope Goldman is apparently now suing the producers (which includes Banks) for their treatment of her story. I’ve never been an expert on instances of life imitating art or vice versa. But this certainly feels like one of those times.
