Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin (2013) is widely considered a modern masterpiece of science fiction, though it remains one of the most polarizing films of the last decade.
It is "better" than your average sci-fi because it replaces heavy dialogue and CGI with haunting, practical imagery and a deeply internal performance by Scarlett Johansson Why it stands out Visual Storytelling:
The film relies on "sensory" experiences rather than a traditional script. Much of it was filmed using hidden cameras on the streets of Scotland, capturing real, unscripted reactions from people interacting with Johansson’s character. A True Alien Perspective:
Unlike films that anthropomorphize aliens, this movie makes the protagonist feel truly "other." You witness her evolving from a cold predator to someone developing a tragic, fragile sense of self. Haunting Score:
Mica Levi’s discordant, screeching soundtrack is essential, creating a constant sense of dread and alienation that stays with you long after the credits. Critical & Audience Reception
The film's "goodness" often depends on what you value in a movie: The "Pro" View: Critics on Rotten Tomatoes under the skin film better
praise it as an "absorbing" and "haunting" experience, often ranking it among the best films of the 21st century. The "Con" View: Its abstract nature can be frustrating. At its Venice Film Festival premiere
, it was actually booed by some audience members who found it too slow or perplexing. The Source Material: If the movie feels too vague, the original novel by Michel Faber
provides much more explicit detail about the aliens' motives and the "meat processing" plot. Under the Skin
is better if you want a film that feels like a fever dream or a piece of gallery art. If you prefer clear plot resolutions and fast-paced action, it might feel inaccessible. , or would you like similar surreal sci-fi recommendations
Most science fiction films are terrified of silence. Think of any Hollywood alien movie: within the first twenty minutes, a scientist will stand in front of a whiteboard and explain the alien’s weakness, or a general will bark exposition about “harvesting human fluids.” Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin (2013) is widely
Under the Skin commits the ultimate cinematic sin: it refuses to explain itself.
We never learn the alien’s name, her planet of origin, or her mission statement. We are thrown into a void of blackness, the birth of a pupil, the assembly of a human disguise. There is no voiceover. No subtitled alien language. No helpful sidekick.
Why this is better: By denying us exposition, Glazer forces us into a state of pure observation. We learn alongside the alien. We see her clumsy attempts to mimic human speech (“I’m not from... here...”). We watch her learn to dress, to walk, to smile. The lack of dialogue transforms the film into a sensory experience rather than an intellectual puzzle. It trusts the audience to assemble the horror themselves, which is infinitely more powerful than being told.
The film is often cited as "better" than mainstream sci-fi because it rejects genre tropes.
The film’s structural genius is its pivot. For the first hour, the alien is the hunter—cold, efficient, mechanical. She lures men, harvests them, and disposes of the husks. We feel nothing for her. She is a monster. Visual Language: Instead of CGI spectacles, the film
But then, something unprecedented happens. She spares a man. A man with neurofibromatosis (a real non-actor with the condition, played by Adam Pearson). Why? The film never explains, but we see it: she sees his deformity, recognizes his otherness, and feels a flicker of kinship.
Then comes the rape attempt in the forest. The alien tries to run, to hide, to call for help. She is assaulted by a drunk, selfish man. The predator becomes the prey.
Why this is better: Most monster movies end with the monster’s death as a victory. Under the Skin ends with the monster’s death as a tragedy. When the log cutter (a horrifyingly mundane rapist) sets her on fire, we are not cheering. We are weeping. The alien, who learned to taste chocolate, to see a sunset, to feel the vulnerability of flesh—dies alone, screaming, in the mud. Glazer has inverted the entire genre. We begin the film fearing the alien. We end the film fearing humanity.
In 2013, director Jonathan Glazer released Under the Skin, a film that left half its audience bored, the other half disturbed, and a small, fervent minority convinced they had just witnessed a masterpiece. A decade later, the film has ascended from cult curiosity to canonical work, frequently appearing on lists of the best films of the 21st century.
But a common refrain persists among casual viewers: “I didn’t get it.” Or worse: “Nothing happened.”
This article argues the opposite. Under the Skin is not merely a good film; it is a better film than almost any big-budget alien invasion story or psychological thriller released in the last twenty years. It is better because of its radical empathy, its purity of visual storytelling, its terrifying realism, and its quiet, devastating meditation on what it means to be human. Let’s break down exactly why this strange, Scottish odyssey works so brilliantly.