As a child, were you ever afraid of going to the bathroom at night? If you were (or still are), there’s a good chance that you’ll relate to the sense of primal terror that drives Skinamarink. An overnight social-media sensation following its Fantasia Festival premiere (and subsequent online leaking), Skinamarink, the feature debut of director and internet-horror creative Kyle Edward Ball, proved an instant hit with audiences, primarily because of how the film managed to tap into seemingly universal fears of familiar, comforting spaces becoming alien and hostile in the dark. The ambient indie chiller has continued its streak of success with its Stateside theatrical run (impressive given the potentially difficult-to-pronounce name when ordering tickets in the cinema lobby), and has now been picked up for international distribution by AMC’s renowned horror-centric streaming service Shudder; to deeply understate the matter, it’s “the little movie that could”.
Expanded from Ball’s 2020 short film Heck, the story of Skinamarink follows two young siblings, Kevin and Kaylee (played by young first-time actors Lucas Paul and Dali Rose Tetreault), who find themselves alone in their family home one night, with their father (star Lucas’s actual father, Ross Paul) nowhere to be seen. The situation turns from uneasy to truly unsettling once the two children discover that all the windows and doors leading outside the house have disappeared, separating them entirely from the world beyond the walls. The nightmarish developments don’t end there, as it becomes increasingly clear that the youngsters are not alone, and someone (or, indeed, something) sinister is hiding in the shadows nearby, just out of sight. However, the plot of Skinamarink is a secondary priority compared to its main focus – transporting the viewer into a grainy, shifting dream world of endless empty rooms with LEGO-strewn floors and dark, ominous hallways.
Following the rise in popularity of the “analog horror” sub-genre and increased interest in the concept of liminal spaces… The trouble is, for all its original presentation, Skinamarink is something that will either click with you or not,
It certainly is a bold attempt to adapt the abstract scares and stylistic quirks of modern online horror for the big screen; following the rise in popularity of the “analog horror” sub-genre and increased interest in the concept of liminal spaces, it’s about time that major horror productions took a few notes from their no-budget computer-based counterparts. The trouble is, for all its original presentation, Skinamarink is something that will either click with you or not, and I’m sorry to say that in my personal case, it completely failed to grip me. It’s not even necessarily a matter of immersion or the conditions in which you experience the film; all that turning the lights off did for me was increase the risk of eye strain when scouring the corners of the grainy picture for the next hint of uncanny imagery. As a person who still struggles sometimes when alone in the house at night, I wanted so dearly to love Skinamarink. Still, perhaps there’s something about the vibe and production design that is more relatable and familiar to a viewer in Canada or the United States than there was to me. Beyond brief glimpses of what could legitimately have been some of my worst nightmares as a child, I tried and struggled to feel what Skinamarink was aiming to bring out in me – and by the end, I had failed. It just wasn’t for me.
Unfortunately, the majority of Skinamarink hinges on buying the vibe that it goes for, because other than that, there’s not a lot going on here. The 1h40min runtime is largely composed of grainy, warping shots of empty rooms – impeccably designed empty rooms, sure, but the tension their dark corners provide is limited. What might have worked as a short becomes a slow, dull experience that just isn’t particularly thrilling to watch; sure, you care for the plight of our young leads, but there’s only so much wallpaper you can stare at before admitting to yourself that you’re not actually watching anything happen. If you enjoy long stretches of emptiness occasionally interrupted by a loud noise (because yes, there are jump scares in this film, and no, they don’t feel particularly earned), then this might be the film for you. There’s also the fact that Skinamarink, whilst fresh when it comes to the world of feature film, is decidedly not immune to the realm of YouTube horror cliché; the choice to repeatedly use vintage Fleischer cartoons from the ‘30s and ‘40s as a creepy recurring motif doesn’t always work when it comes to the setting and atmosphere of this ‘90s-set film. I did get the creeping suspicion that perhaps they were used as yet another example of something being old, and apparently therefore unsettling in any context.
I really don’t enjoy being this critical about an independent genre film, especially if it’s one that has resonated with a lot of people and gained a large fan following; in fact, I only expect the cult of Skinamarink to grow once it arrives on Shudder, and I know that there will be many out there who will sing its praises. However, for me, Skinamarink will not cause sleepless nights. That would sound like a good thing in any other context than this one.
SKINAMARINK is on Shudder from 1st February
