Skincare – Film Review

Austin Peters’ directorial debut Skincare promises to delve into the often glossy world of high-end aesthetics, blending elements of suspense, psychological intrigue, and biting satire on modern vanity. Anchored by a well-rounded cast led by Elizabeth Banks, the film explores obsession, deception, and the price of perfection. While Skincare has moments of genuine tension, sharp commentary, and a strong lead, it ultimately struggles to balance its thriller aspects with the exaggerated satire that underpins the narrative.

At the core of Skincare is Hope Goldman (Elizabeth Banks), a successful Los Angeles aesthetician whose pristine, carefully curated life starts to unravel with the arrival of Angel Vergara (Luis Gerardo Méndez), a rival skincare expert who opens a boutique directly across from her studio. What begins as an irksome business rivalry spirals into something far darker when Hope starts receiving ominous messages, and her reputation takes a series of inexplicable hits that threaten her career and stability.

Teaming up with life coach Jordan Weaver (Lewis Pullman), a young self-help guru who seems just as eager to help as he is to ingratiate himself into her life, Hope embarks on a tense, at times absurd journey to uncover the person behind her undoing. Is Angel the one sabotaging her, or is something else at play? As the lines between friend and foe blur, the stakes get higher, leading to a series of tense confrontations and unraveling secrets.

Elizabeth Banks shines as Hope Goldman, delivering a performance that balances vulnerability and confidence with a touch of unhinged paranoia. Banks has always been adept at navigating comedic and dramatic roles, and in Skincare, she finds a middle ground, offering both subtle humor and genuine distress. As Hope’s life unravels, Banks captures the essence of someone desperately trying to maintain control while slowly losing her grip. She plays Hope as a character who is as sharp and calculating in her business as she is fraught with insecurities in her personal life, giving the audience a complex protagonist to root for, even when her choices become questionable.

The supporting cast also pulls its weight, though the characters often feel more like archetypes than fully fleshed-out individuals. Lewis Pullman’s Jordan Weaver initially comes across as a charming, well-meaning life coach, but as the film progresses, Pullman layers the character with a sense of unsettling, self-serving ambition. The dynamic between him and Banks is intriguing, especially as their partnership turns from camaraderie to something far more dangerous. Meanwhile, Luis Gerardo Méndez as Angel Vergara plays the role with just enough ambiguity to keep the audience guessing about his intentions, though he ultimately feels underutilized.

Skincare presents itself as a thriller, but Peters’ approach to the genre feels uneven. The film alternates between moments of nail-biting suspense and stretches of satirical commentary on the beauty industry, but these two tones often clash instead of complementing each other. The thriller elements—especially in the middle sections—are well-executed, with Hope receiving creepy messages, having her life sabotaged, and losing her grip on reality. However, the film’s pacing suffers as it attempts to juggle the tension of a psychological thriller with a somewhat campy critique of vanity and the cutthroat nature of Los Angeles’ beauty scene.

The film’s darkly comedic touches, while occasionally insightful, often feel forced. The jabs at self-help culture, the obsession with image, and the superficiality of success in Los Angeles are clear but not subtle. These elements certainly have potential, but the movie’s script doesn’t always know how to strike the right balance between being an intense thriller and a tongue-in-cheek satire. As a result, the film lurches between moments of tension and those of exaggerated humor, leaving the viewer unsure of how seriously to take the unfolding drama.

Visually, Skincare excels in capturing the luxurious, hyper-polished world that Hope inhabits. Peters uses sleek, bright, and almost sterile environments to create a sense of artificiality that mirrors the characters’ own facades. The contrast between Hope’s impeccably clean and modern skincare studio and the creeping, ominous events that disrupt her life serves as a metaphor for the thin veneer of perfection so many in her industry chase.

During scenes where Hope performs facials or works on her products, the film uses close-ups to heighten the tension. These intimate moments are juxtaposed with the growing chaos in her life, underscoring the idea that what looks flawless on the surface often conceals deeper imperfections. The cinematography highlights this dissonance well, though it occasionally feels overly polished, detracting from the raw intensity of certain scenes.

While Skincare builds suspense effectively in its first two acts, the final act falters. The twists, though satisfying in some respects, are somewhat predictable, and the resolution feels rushed. The film sets up an intriguing psychological battle between Hope and her perceived enemies, but the climactic moments don’t quite deliver the intensity promised by the buildup.

The film’s commentary on the toxic nature of beauty standards and personal branding gets lost amid the more traditional thriller tropes. Skincare touches on some interesting ideas—such as the lengths people will go to maintain their image and the impact of social media on personal and professional lives—but these themes feel more like window dressing than deeply explored concepts.

Skincare is an ambitious debut for Austin Peters, blending dark comedy with thriller elements, even if it doesn’t fully stick the landing. While the performances—particularly from Banks—are engaging, and the film’s satirical take on the beauty industry is sharp in places, its uneven tone and pacing detract a bit from the overall experience.