The Man Who Sold His Skin
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
The Academy Awards always have one International Feature Film nominee that is an absolute treasure hunt to track down: film festival darlings that are impossible to find ahead of the ceremony, if you weren’t lucky enough to have predicted this selection months ahead (and out of countless possible nominees). It’s unfortunate, because these picks are usually really good, and are worth the recognition. That isn’t the case with this year’s selection of this nature, Kaouther Ben Hania’s The Man Who Sold His Skin, which is easily the strongest nominee of this year’s International Feature Film category, even by a clear margin (in a strong group to boot). It’s like The Man Who Sold His Skin could even have been a frontrunner to win this award, had it received wider distribution earlier. Yes. It’s that good. Don’t let it be the nominee that is forgotten after this awards season has wrapped up.
What is so special about this film? Well, there is one motion picture that I find the slightest similarities in, and that’s The Square: a satire about performance art that is performance art in and of itself. That’s as far as the similarities go. Otherwise, The Man Who Sold His Skin is an art film about art, with enough of a satirical bite to allow the more unnatural portions of the film to fly. As art, The Square did enough to carry some significant weight. However, The Man Who Sold His Skin is sensational on this front. It’s visually overwhelming, which is proof enough, but it’s the audacious social commentary that Skin carries that really sticks with you.
The photography in The Man Who Sold His Skin is rich in bursting colours.
This is all prevalent in the film’s unique premise, which is actually a little too real, allowing you to never forget its main intentions: bringing awareness to the exploitation of refugees. Sam is experiencing turmoil in Syria that splits him and his lover apart, as well as distancing him from his family. In order to get approved for a visa, Sam is turned into an artistic statement: a gigantic visa is tattooed onto his back. This exchange happens because Sam was looking for food to survive at a local art show; he left as the next big prospect. For the entirety of the film, he becomes the focal point of many gazes: he is ostracized by Syrians for engaging in an activity that brings shame to their nation, he is a source of financial hope for his family, he is a threat to his former fiancee’s now-husband, and he is an object for art collectors to fawn over.
Nonetheless, as the film progresses, the ways he is valued get stranger, and stranger, and stranger. I couldn’t help but find myself gobsmacked towards even the second act of this film, never mind the finale (which carries some devious twists and turns). Hania really doesn’t hold back with her commentary on the neglect of refugees, with the amount of horrifying events that unfurl, particularly towards Sam and how the world views him as art but not as a person. Theres no sugar coating here.
Sam is viewed as art, but not taken care of as a human.
Without spoiling the revelations, all you need to know is that Hania inspects all of the ways that Sam’s connection to the art world could prove to be a satirical take on art, whilst a scathing look at the damning ways of the world towards war torn nations. Both sides of this coin are never lost, because of Hania’s fantastic ability to balance them both out. Every image is so drenched in colour — sometimes to the extent of looking like the results of gel lighting — that you are always aware of its artistic angle. The discussion of the mistreatment of Sam is also focused on every scene, so you never get the sense that everything is okay. This is some expert direction that fully realizes both natures of Skin.
With that in mind, you’re never sure how far the film will go, and Hania doesn’t disappoint. Even when it isn’t being cynical or hard hitting as a satire, Skin is using each and every opportunity to say something. There’s a particular conversation between Sam and his mother (no spoilers) that had me shaken, because of its shocking confession; we never return to what we learn from this scene, but we also don’t need to, because the scene hits us hard enough with exactly what we need to know. Sure, Skin takes some time to set its world up, but every crossing of a threshold generates more and more fire, until you’re left with an uncontrollable ride that you cannot predict.
The Man Who Sold His Skin is unpredictable, and uses its unique premise to leave audiences itching in their seats, anxious to know what happens next.
I cannot recommend The Man Who Sold His Skin enough. It is as aesthetically beautiful as it is narratively frightening. It’s easily one of the best films to be nominated at the Academy Awards, and I implore you to follow up with it once you get the opportunity to. A big reason why I love the Best International Feature Film category is that it brings awareness to hidden gems of cinema that casual movie watchers may not have had on their radar. The Man Who Sold His Skin is that film. It is the strongest satire of 2020, a blistering arthouse achievement, and an unforgettable ride. Poignant. Bold. Frightening. Exquisite. The Man Who Sold His Skin is all of this and more. I’m actually devastated that Another Round — as much as I love that film — is slated to win the Oscar with near certainty, because it’s like The Man Who Sold His Skin didn’t even have a chance, when it could have (and should have) dominated this category.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.