In the rare but unfortunate timing that allows to me to be a risk assessment cost/benefit entertainment analyst (sorry, they’re still called ‘film critics’ in the non-risk assessed parts of the world), I will try to once again take advantage of the window where we in the UK get something before the US, and urge my six readers (that’s right, now three times more popular!) to see Under the Skin. Honestly, I didn’t love it while watching, but it’s aging well, and that says a lot.

It’s not a great horror film, but it has two of the scariest scenes since the first Insidious. There’s some stuff that maybe should have been left out, but the length of the takes have a kind of confidence that tells you to keep watching. But what really matters is that it’s weird, truly and wonderfully and unabashedly weird. It really doesn’t care what the audience thinks, and leaves a lot of stuff out with the impression that there’s even more than what we’re seeing. It reminds me of the kind of insanity that the 1970s encouraged, which would lead to the egregious excesses of The Godfather, Part II (yep, someone finally said it and it’s now finally okay for you to not like that film. Sorry, to admit that you never did), but also the wonderful nuttiness of The Man Who Fell to Earth, or even The Conversation. Given the release of the utterly wack-a-doo Noah, time is cycling back agin to the good stuff. And I can’t wait.

I can’t believe there weren’t any motorcycle guys that Halloween. What a gyp.

That’s a good place to stop, being good never stopped me before, so I would also like to say that Ms. Scarlett Johanson, fresh off Don Jon, Her and this, is currently my favorite working actress. No, really. Excusing Captain America: Strike Against You, these are three very diverse performances, each embodied beautifully, and who knew? And yes, there’s all the press about her engaging with strangers on the street (a movie star? Talking to people?????), but this is about three minutes of the film. I mean, I know the critics are trying to get you to see the film, but why not just mention the copious, copious nudity, male and female? I did. But I’m not a movie critic. I don’t have to hide the fact I like boobies. And cock, apparently. I did make Treasure Island, after all.

And still not stopping, and still checking off the similarity between it and the sadly inferior Treasure Island (Cock, check – steadfast refusal to tell the audience what the fuck is going on, check, and finally: one theme, check), one theme, check (read it again, it’s palindromic!). The reason it works as a non-narrative is that it is really about one thing: what it’s like to be alien, and it nails that all the way. It’s not as complete as something like We Need To Talk About Kevin or Spring Breakers, but it’s somehow more intense. As your appointed risk analyst I’m not saying you will like it, but you will feel something, even if it’s mad at me.