Dreams often come to us only half-remembered. What’s visible so clearly in the moment becomes a grainy blur just seconds after we wake, as if our brains have abruptly switched off whatever alternate frequency they were plugged into. Such is the experience of watching Kyle Edward Ball’s Skinamarink, a distorted and disturbing audio-visual experience that’s less a traditional horror movie than the expanded strands of an old nightmare, downloaded directly from the filmmaker’s subconscious haze and fed unedited onto the screen.
The story, such as it is, preys on a familiar fear: the dark. Specifically, that fear as it situates itself in the mind of a four-year-old boy, Kevin (Lucas Paul), who, along with his sister, Kaylee (Dali Rose Tetreault), wakes up in the middle of the night to find that their father has disappeared, and that all the doors and windows in their house are inexplicably vanishing. What follows is a descent into some sort of liminal space, as household objects attach themselves to the ceiling, and a grotesque, disembodied voice starts issuing ominous commands and threats. That voice ostensibly belongs to whatever entity is causing the chaos, though its motive and form are never explained. Instead, we remain locked in Kevin’s perspective, isolated and alone until we can finally wake up.
Skinamarink’s unique, half-remembered feeling is due to its presentation: low-resolution digital video so grainy that it’s often necessary to squint to see what’s happening on screen. The trick is, do you want to squint? What if you see something you didn’t want to see? What if that vague, unknowable form your eyes lock onto in the dark is, in fact, something sinister? In this way, Skinamarink is a more interactive and even frustrating experience than most, as much of the horror comes from what you give to it. The film presents an ominous shape and asks your imagination to fill in the rest. Otherwise, you may spend an hour and 40 minutes looking at walls, which is approximately 75% of the film anyways.
Luckily, the grain often distorts the image in compelling and disorienting ways. Static shots morph, causing walls, ceilings and whole rooms to shift and contort unpredictably, even as they remain completely still. Human characters are kept out of view, save for pairs of feet or the back of a head you sincerely hope doesn’t turn around. There’s even an alarmingly creepy use of a retro Fisher Price Chatter Telephone that may be the film’s most ingenious bit of sensorial rewiring. With the exception of one skin-crawling jump scare, Skinamarink isn’t using these tactics to actively terrify you, it’s trying to invoke a long-dormant dread.
The best stylistic comparison would be to 2021’s We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, a similarly non-traditional horror film that also preyed on feelings of isolation and loneliness. Both films feel distinctly of the digital age, more akin to videos you might receive late at night from an unknown email address than something you’d intentionally choose to go see in the theater. Words like “cursed” could convincingly be thrown around to describe Skinamarink, even if it’s not literally going to kill you in seven days. The film, Ball’s directorial debut, has an interesting genesis. He originated the idea through his YouTube channel, Bitesized Nightmares, which cinematically recreates nightmares submitted in the comments by viewers. Many of the recurrent tropes laced throughout those videos are present in Skinamarink, which may add to its remarkable undercurrent of specificity.
The question is, does this concept support an entire feature? Not really. As effective as it is, Skinamarink could probably be an hour long and not lose any of its impact. There are points that feel stretched out, such as the recurring motif of a television set playing old children’s cartoons. Though creepy, moments like this begin to feel like filler, and there are preciously few sequences that actively feel like they’re introducing something new or even that engaging. There’s a delicate line between being unnerved and bored that Ball occasionally struggles to straddle.
There’s also the question of format. IFC Films will be doing a limited theatrical release of Skinamarink before it streams on Shudder, but it’s arguably best seen on a laptop, alone in your room with the lights off. Horror films live and die by how they’re viewed, especially this one, and it’s hard to imagine this type of personal, sensory experience playing as effectively in a theatrical setting. Aside from feeling overstretched, though, Skinamarink is distinctively memorable and creative, a film that uses its low-budget and simple tricks to lock onto something primal. If you’re not bored, you may be four years old again, staring at that crack in the door, unsure of whether something’s out there, waiting for you — in the dark.
Photo courtesy of IFC Midnight
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