Gregg Araki graced the Academy Museum with a massacre of all hope. In other news, I am abundant of it.
Screening his most devastating film, Mysterious Skin (2004), on September 19th, Araki allowed his fans to experience the beautifully-crafted tragedy in theatres, remastered and re-edited, for the first and (hopefully not) last time.
Guest speakers at this event included Araki himself, novelist Scott Heim (who originally wrote the narrative), and filmmaker Sean Baker (hey, that rhymes!). While actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt was promised, he unfortunately could not attend. However, during the speaking portion in the margin after the screening, Heim and Baker both phoned Gordon-Levitt as well as the other star of the movie’s cast, actor and director Brady Corbet. This turned into a very comedic sequence.
The Academy Museum is a great place to watch cinema, especially the post-screenings. I’d highly recommend that anyone reading this go and experience it themselves. For students, tickets are discounted to only $5. I changed my life for five bucks!
To preface the rest of this piece, the movie has strong themes of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and childhood sexual abuse. It is a heavy topic. If this may be triggering to you, I’d advise against reading this and watching the movie on account of the contents. This also may contain mild spoilers.
Mysterious Skin is the most emotionally raw film I’ve ever seen. Araki described it as “fresh” — an adjective I’d agree with. Unlike the typical Araki style, which is colorful and zany, this movie is overwhelmingly real. It shows everything exactly as it is; unfiltered, straight up. It’s honest and shattering.
The narrative follows the parallel plot-lines of two boys as they endure the effects of childhood trauma and sexual abuse into their late adolescence. They each fight contrary struggles; the premise of the movie is that “one can’t remember, and one can’t forget.” Each false detail that offers them consolation slips past, all while they both know something’s missing from their recollection. Right before the movie ends, their stories merge and they finally face it head-on.
From the second after I bought the tickets until the second before Araki first walked on stage, I was in utter denial about the whole thing actually happening. Since watching Mysterious Skin—my first Araki movie at fifteen years old—my life has been upside down. In a grave way. Also in a riveting way — he holds an obvious mastery for portraying the deepest of emotions. As a young artist in Los Angeles, he’s like my own personal guiding deity.
I remember that during the screening, for the first time, I heard laughter. When I watched the film alone, I never found anything about it lighthearted or comical. Initially, I thought it strange. Then my thought process transitioned into something more comforting. Perhaps these people identified with the movie, and that being surrounded by a full theater of empathizers, an environment was facilitated where it was safe to laugh about it. No words necessary.
Seeing Michelle Trachtenberg on the screen since her passing earlier this year definitely hit hard. She was so beloved in her role as Wendy Peterson, as a person, everything. She was vital to the film, being a protective guide to Neil McCormick, Gordon-Levitt’s self-destructive and emotionally damaged character. Seeing her revived on screen was undeniably emotional. We are all so appreciative of who she was, inside and outside of this movie.
It became clear that this was the optimal way to watch the film. It flourished in the moment. The audience was swallowed by the colossal screen, each face drowning in the dreamlike blue light, the resounding shoe-gaze soundtrack. I had total tunnel vision. Everybody had shiny eyes. They all looked hypnotized, or paralyzed by some force coming from the screen.
Even after it was over, it lingered over our heads. I’ve never seen a movie evoke such a complex emotion, where everyone was so happy to be sad together. It was an atmosphere drawn from the setting, the people’s resonance, the power of the movie … Everything felt heavy as we made an effort to emerge from it all, with anxious fits of laughter as we attempted to unload our grief, totally stunned.
I had half-hoped I’d be able to get my thrifted Mysterious Skin CD signed by Araki, but it seemed more like a fantasy. It came to my surprise that, after being informed by some audience members, it would turn real. This might not sound all that shocking or crazy, but this is my favorite director of all time, who I never thought even in my wildest dreams I’d be in the presence of.
I remember feeling electricity and adrenaline surging through me as I was walking to Araki’s wonky signing/photo line, messily merging with Heim’s and Baker’s. I waited in line and convinced myself that I must have been dreaming – or that either he or I would be struck dead by lightning before I made it to the front. Neither scenario came true, fortunately for the both of us.
When I got to the front, before I could get a word out, he immediately complimented my Cocteau Twins shirt. This drained my anxiety, and I got comfortable speaking with him. He came off as very humble and genuine, with a generally welcoming air. I told him that I wrote as a high school journalist, to which he responded “HIGH SCHOOL?!” probably seeing that I was slightly taller than him …
When I said I had already written an article on him, that I was writing another currently about this event, and that he was my biggest inspiration, he told me it meant a lot to him. It’s difficult to know fully if somebody means that, especially when you look at the great quantity of fans they’re obligated to talk to, but I want to believe that he could recognize the depths of my appreciation in that split second, and, in a way, reciprocate.
I got my CD signed and took a picture with him. I was euphoric while drinking a McDonald’s milkshake afterwards. I also felt very wistful.
I realized that this was a very unique event. I wasn’t sure whether or not it would happen again.
For people that share dark experiences similar to those in the film, this moment was able to offer them comfort and a sense of community. It’s very important that movies like this are made. It means a lot to certain people that the brutal truth is shown — it helps them come to terms with their own troubles, and in becoming aware that whatever happened was not their fault, which the movie expresses with great volume. It should not be shielded from the world, nor should it be romanticized.
September is Suicide Prevention Month. This film grapples with topics of CSA, SA, and PTSD, which are leading causes towards developing depression and anxiety. This may provoke habits of self-harm and suicidal thoughts or tendencies.
If you have experienced something like this, if you feel alone and helpless, reach out to someone. If you’re scared about the possible repercussions of opening up, remember that receiving help is entirely possible and extremely beneficial in the long run. It is always worth it. Call 988 if you are having a crisis.
At the end of the film, Neil McCormick explains the missing pieces of Brian Lackey’s childhood to him. It hurt, but was necessary. Then, we get a narration from Neil as they lay there on the couch, desolate yet comforted, and it transcends the entire film.
As we sat there listening to the carolers, I wanted to tell Brian that it was over now and that everything would be okay. But that was a lie; plus, I couldn’t speak anyway.
