Review: ‘Skincare’ plot is only skin-deep, but it’s a compellingly sleazy film

Director Austin Peters makes his narrative feature debut with “Skincare,” a slice of nasty Los Angeles noir set in the beauty industry, starring Elizabeth Banks as a celebrity aesthetician whose reputation crumbles around her over the course of two weeks.

But the City of Angels of “Skincare” is not the glowing, golden fantasy that we often see on screen. No, the light in “Skincare” is harsh and revealing, with bright UV rays, fluorescent bulbs and neon signs beating down on the face of Hope Goldman (Banks), a facialist with a high-profile client list who’s on the verge of breaking through to the big time with her own skin care line.

Hope has been desperate to keep up appearances with her new product line, taping a TV segment that she hopes will launch her into fame and fortune, but as we come to find out, her finances are in disarray. She’s behind on the rent for her storefront and spa in the kitschy Crossroads of the World complex in Hollywood. So, when a competing aesthetician, Angel (Luis Gerardo Méndez), sets up shop on her turf, an already frazzled Hope begins to unravel.

But Hope’s undoing isn’t entirely her fault, as a mysterious stalker simultaneously starts to interfere with her reputation, sending creepy texts with videos of Hope attached, hacking her email, posting Craigslist ads for casual encounters, slashing her tires. Hope turns to her only allies — lecherous men like a TV news anchor (Nathan Fillion), her mechanic (Erik Palladino) and a new friend, Jordan (Lewis Pullman), a young, amped-up “life coach.”

“Skincare” becomes a two-hander, alternating between the floundering Hope and the flailing Jordan, who desperately wants to be seen as a hero to her. Pullman is delightfully slimy as an unhinged delusional narcissist, stringy and strung-out, high on his own supply of motivational speaker word salad that he spews into his laptop camera.

Banks, on the other hand, brings a flinty mean streak to the striving Hope. Though she’s a victim here, she’s not entirely sympathetic, and Banks tiptoes that fine line carefully. There’s a dash of schadenfreude for Hope because she’s delusional herself. Her own misplaced assumptions and accusations add to the pile-up of miscommunication that leads to destruction and tragedy in “Skincare.”

The script, written by Peters with Sam Freilich and Deering Regan, is less interesting. The coincidences and twists fit together, somewhat, but there’s no narrative reason why this story had to be set in the beauty industry or why it doesn’t dig into its facade or frivolity in any significant way.

There is also no discernible reason why this story is set in 2013, except that it makes it feel slightly dated and a bit cheesy; the diegetic Maroon 5 and Katy Perry songs that weave throughout give it an ironic humor and sense of time, but this film did not have to be a period piece.

Despite the script’s limitations, like Hope, Peters is a master of aesthetics himself, and with cinematographer Christopher Ripley and editor Laura Zempel, he crafts a compellingly sleazy ‘80s-style thriller, or at least a convincing facsimile of one.

The story may be only skin-deep, but Banks and Pullman find something truthfully hopeless in the surface pleasures of “Skincare.”

2.5 stars out of 4

Rated: R for sexual content, graphic nudity, language throughout, some violence and brief drug use.

Where: In theaters Friday.