Self-mutilation movie goes skin deep

Grade B-

Valentine’s Day. The most useless and disgusting holiday invented by mankind. My boyfriend is about 1,800 kilometers away. What better way to spend this day than by seeing a movie about self-mutilation?

In My Skin is the work of Marina de Van, better known for her writing collaborations with Francois Ozon for Sous le Sable and 8 femmes. But do not expect any Technicolor costumes here. The only costume of any interest in this film is Marina de Van’s own skin, which becomes the object of obsession of the character she portrays.

Esther (de Van) starts off as your typical filmic Parisian character: elle travaille dans une bote o elle fait du travail chiant pour des gens chiants.

At any moment, the audience expects her to find the life that was boiling within her through multiple sexual encounters.

Years of watching Bleu Nuit have tainted Quebec cultural conscience.

But the kind of release that Esther finds is far from your usual French soft porn.

A lot of words can be used to describe de Van’s movie, but soft surely is not one of them. This is hardcore.

In order to escape another boring party full of co-workers, Esther decides to go wander in the backyard. It is there that she falls down after cutting her leg on a piece of metal.

But she does not notice this right away. It is only when she sees the wound that she realizes how badly she hurt herself.

It is in this moment that Esther starts looking at her body differently.

She sees it as a piece of material outside of her own being, no different than the steak that lies in her plate, a product meant to be consumed, if not by humans, then by nature through deterioration.

So Esther chooses the former, beginning her journey to cutting and cannibalism. As yummy as a chocolate heart.

But do not take the easy route and assume that this is some feminist metaphor. De Van takes good care in discrediting this reading early in the film.

Instead, one cannot help but feel like they are watching a cheaper French version of Fight Club or American Psycho, except without everything that made those movies great.

Because, while In My Skin is gorier than its macho predecessors, it unfortunately lacks their incisiveness and satirical humour.

In My Skin stems from a great idea that sadly does not go anywhere.

While trying to avoid a feminist reading, de Van denies her audience of any reading whatsoever.

A film that promised to be thought-provoking quickly becomes superficial and boring. Despite its hour-and-thirty-minute run, the movie still feels long to an audience who can foresee how everything will unfold before even reaching the half-way mark.

The only thing the audience cannot anticipate is just how subdued the ending is, feeling completely out of place in a film that was so adamant about breaking barriers.

The only thing appropriate about the ending is that it is as disappointing as Valentine’s Day.

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