the art of being unsettled

nightmarish art, "skinamarkink," and the allure of "beef"

Yes, I’m gonna speak briefly about one of the buzzier horror movies this year, an arthouse low-budget hit called “Skinamarink,” but I promise you this is spoiler-free and not just a newsletter for horror fans.

“Skinamarink” was a film festival darling that I learned about on Reddit, meaning that I had to watch it the day it came to streaming on Shudder.

Explaining what “Skinamarink” is about is like trying to explain an elaborate nightmare to your partner first thing in the morning—epic, weird, and somehow full of holes despite how vivid the experience still feels even after the dream is over.

The easiest way to describe it: a little boy sleepwalks and falls down the stairs. Later, he and his sister wake up and find that their parents are gone and their house no longer has any windows or doors. A strange bodiless entity seems to be messing with them. The audience doesn’t see the children’s faces, and the camera often focuses instead on the children’s toys, the house’s furnitures, or empty rooms and halls for long stretches of time.

from Skinamarink

Theories abound about what the film is actually about. Some claim it is an extended metaphor for the nightmarish fear of the dark we all experience as kids. Others make a case that it is an allegory for growing up queer or growing up in an abusive household (or both). Another theory posits it is a nightmare spurred by the boy’s fall down the stairs, and that for the remainder of the film he remains between life and death in a coma. The filmmaker, Kyle Edward Bell, has said the plot is purposefully vague and meant to be interpreted in numerous ways.

If great art is meant to make you feel something and ask questions, then “Skinamarink” made me feel deeply unsettled. The long shots of dolls in bizarre positions, collapsed blanket forts, and the back of children’s heads are not unsettling at first glance, but after several minutes, take on a sinister quality that made my skin crawl. And because of this, the film also made me ask, “Why can’t I look away? Why am I reluctant to turn this off?”

We can see selections of uncanny and unsettling art at the beginning of each episode of Beef, Netflix’s wild new series about road rage gone off the rails. Plenty of moments in Beef (which I’ll definitely devote an entire newsletter to in the near future) could count as disturbing and even downright surreal. The title sequence at the start of every episode features artwork that represents the mood or emotional feeling that is about to be explored. And like the show itself, each piece of art is equal parts fascinating and grotesque, terrifying and hypnotic. Maybe the question being asked here is, “How does rage cloud our judgement?” Or, maybe it’s something more.

from Netflix’s Beef