As much discourse there is about the escalating role of AI, I’d like to see money placed behind philosophical musings of the beauty industry taking up my social media feed. There are probably several Black Mirror episodes and actual news headlines to match the terror behind aging, a natural process for all living things. It’s the kind of fear that is somewhat biologically surreal, like trying to stop cows’ flatulence from contributing to global warming. However, the damage dealt in our self-esteem and wallets against supposed skin damage has become more accepted in our lives than the ways we wouldn’t let AI disrupt ours.
The genius behind modern skincare is that the basic routines require stripping away your natural moisturized layers with one product and then replace the layers with another product. Insecurity plays into add-ons like pore cleansing and fine line removal so that your skincare morphs as a one-of-a-kind exclusive regimen to your one-of-a-kind complexion (as a Kiehl’s devotee, I am speaking hypocritically). Austin Peters’ Skincare, a foray into the competitive nature of the industry, has the opportunity to dig underneath the venom seeping in with the sellers and the consumers.
But this is not that kind of story. It instead hones in on an individual case of someone aging out of a rapidly developing game. Hope Goldman, played by Elizabeth Banks, is a successful (albeit in debt) aesthetician who is about to launch her line of beauty products when she is unraveled by a rival business moving in from across her salon. After a confrontation with the business owner Angel (Luis Gerardo Méndez), Hope is then followed by a string of sexual harassments, texts, and an unknown assailant.
Apart from Skincare only going so far past the epidermis of psychological thrillers (I’m not even sure if it aims for a twist per se, so it dumps itself into a flat movie devoid of pulling viewers along for the ride), I think those who are in tune with skincare might find some hilarity from details in makeup and design. Flaws can be found within Hope’s white-blonde hair extensions not quite blending in with her natural color, which might be a case of her small-town roots finding its way into Tinseltown, or within Nathan Fillion’s skeevy character’s foundation being too dark for his face. “Whatever you do to the face, don’t forget the neck,” Hope ominously states in an unrelated scene. She’ll correctly guess someone’s age as an offside comment (this occurs for the 20somethings, who react as flabbergasted as I would). There might be other nuggets that I didn’t catch, and I’d be interested to see a dermatologist break down Skincare.
Hope represents a person of experience, both in the business side and personal dealings with sexism, and a character I would have loved to see win at the end. However, Skincare is on Hope’s short end of the stick. Most of Hope’s clientele are older loyalists, and Hope doesn’t seem attracted to the modern plasticized upkeep (though this takes place in 2013 where the Instagram face has not yet been invented). Angel’s work (which involves micro-gravity technology as developed by NASA) is more of the exclusive cutting-edge work that people aspire, even if it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
After directorial stunts with Cocaine Bear and the Charlie’s Angels reboot, it’s easy to forget that Banks is an actress who is down for a challenge (commendationss for her recent collaborations in working with first-time directors). Undergoing her own method of replicating Cameron Candance Bure’s Christian aura surviving in LA (which loudly screamed at me when Maroon 5 blares at a gun store), Banks has a great understanding of this character. With a more intriguing storyline (and perhaps removing Lewis Pullman’s character as Hope’s foil), I think Banks could have had her Rebecca Hall in Christine moment. As the old adage goes, beauty is pain. Nowadays, beauty should be pain.
Skincare
2024
dir. Austin Peters
97 min.
Opens Friday, 8/16 @ Kendall Square Cinema, Alamo Drafthouse, and assorted AMCs
