Directed by Hanro Smitsman.
Starring John Buijsman, Robert de Hoog, Juda Goslinga and Guus Dam.
SYNOPSIS:
In the late Seventies, a Dutch teenager named Frankie, who is the son of a holocaust survivor, lives in a working class area in Holland. Frankie’s mother is taken to hospital in a terminal condition, causing a bigger rift between him and his father. This leads to Frankie becoming the interest of the local Nazi skinhead group.
Now, the key to a good film about an angry lower class youth, it to make the youth in question seem believable, whilst not getting the brat-level way too high. There has to be the right amount of pathos and some degree of justification before we start seeing little Jimmy’s problems at home a serious enough excuse for him to go Clockwork Orange about the place. Holland would be one of the last countries I’d expect to see this amount of violence, but it’s still making me wonder whether that weekend away to there wouldn’t be completely free of any violence.
In Skin, we’re given a poor part of Holland in the late seventies. Punk’s the in thing and head shaving is seen as a political statement, rather than just a handy way of keeping nits away. Frankie is scraggly haired young man who resembles a broom doing an impression of Carrot Top. He’s acne faced, gawky and quite possibly the most honest representation of a teenager I’ve ever seen without playing the squeaky voice and greasy forehead for laughs. His father is survivor of the holocaust and is practically estranged from the child. It’s a typical awkward father son relationship set up that provides peaks of emotion against a background of awkward conversations.
One of Frankie’s friends is a black Dutchman who provides him with sneaky drugs above his unwitting mother’s hair salon. It’s around this point that Frankie is introduced to the punk and skinhead movements. At a local punk gig, the Nazi skinhead group make their entrance. I can’t pinpoint what it is about them, but Neo-Nazi skinheads always make me wince in anticipation of violence. The lead Nazi has the role down to a perfect goosestep. As soon as he starts threatening Frankie’s unwelcome friend, I was gripped in an uncomfortable way. It’s from this moment that Frankie’s inevitable involvement with the gang starts its long roll down the slope of ignorance. It doesn’t help that his mother has been taken to hospital with a fatal condition.
The film’s narrative is split into two parts; Frankie before he is put into prison and Frankie’s time in prison. Already we know things aren’t going to end well for the spotty ragamuffin. You’d think that this sudden jump in time would give too much away, but despite revealing what happens with Frankie it only adds to serve as a striking contrast to how things weren’t so bad before his involvement with the skinheads. Well, I say they weren’t so bad. He doesn’t seem to have much of a future and his angst seems to always get the better of him. It’s thanks to this use of a dual narrative on one person that kept the pace, and my interest, throughout the entire film.
And what can I say about visual approach? Think beige grime. Everywhere seems to have a beige motif going as if there were a recent witch-hunt against interior designers. The only place with any stark contrast in decor is the punk club itself. It’s black. Just black. With occasional beer stains. What does this say about the society in which Frankie lives? That normal life is so bland and colourless that his only escape is via the dark path of drugs and violence? Wouldn’t surprise me, but then again, that’s a typical observation.
It would be lazy to start using such films as American History X and This Is England to draw a comparison, but it’s so hard not too when it’s not only within the same ballpark, they’re wearing the same team uniform. Skins, not shirts. I would come to the conclusion that it’s the middle part of the venn diagram of the other two films. But this combines both of the films strong points into a gripping, but sadly short, experience that charters a mislead youth’s descent into thuggery. A hard hittingly honest portrays the dark side of finding a new identity.
Will Preston is a freelance writer from Portsmouth. He writes for various blogs (including his own website) and makes short films.
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