“I felt a deep connection to the alien’s cold and haunting curiosity.” With that single line, Scarlett Johansson summed up her unwavering loyalty to one of the most polarizing films of the 21st century: Under the Skin. While audiences recoiled and critics argued, Johansson stood firm—insisting that the film’s discomfort was not a flaw, but its purpose.
When Under the Skin premiered at the Venice Film Festival in 2013, the reaction was explosive. As the credits rolled, applause collided with loud, sustained boos. Few films in recent memory have so publicly divided a room. Some viewers dismissed it as “seriously deranged,” opaque, or even hostile to its audience. Johansson, however, would later describe the experience as painful—but artistically validating.
Directed by Jonathan Glazer, the film follows an alien entity wearing human skin as it drives through Scotland, luring men into an abstract, nightmarish void. The plot is minimal by design. Dialogue is sparse. Meaning is implied rather than explained. For many, this absence of narrative hand-holding felt alienating. For Johansson, it was liberation.
Acting Without a Net
One of the most radical aspects of Under the Skin was its production method. Much of the film was shot guerrilla-style in Glasgow using hidden cameras. Johansson, disguised with a dark wig and plain clothes, drove a van through the city interacting with real people—many of whom did not realize they were speaking to one of the most famous actors in the world.
This wasn’t a gimmick. Glazer wanted Johansson to observe humanity the way an outsider would—curious, detached, and unprotected. Johansson later said the anonymity allowed her to disappear in a way she never had before. She wasn’t performing emotion; she was withholding it.
Booed, Then Canonized
The Venice screening nearly broke her. Festival director Alberto Barbera later recalled that Johansson was close to tears after the aggressive audience reaction. But he offered reassurance that history would be kinder than the room—and he was right.
In the years since, Under the Skin has been re-evaluated and elevated. It is now widely regarded as a modern sci-fi masterpiece, praised for its unsettling imagery, Mica Levi’s dissonant score, and its refusal to comfort the viewer. What once seemed incomprehensible is now considered daring.
A Deeply Personal Film
Johansson has consistently framed the film as a metaphor for the female experience—particularly isolation, objectification, and the slow realization of vulnerability. The alien begins as a predator, but gradually becomes aware of fear, desire, and bodily fragility. For Johansson, that transition mirrored how women are often perceived first as objects, then punished when they show humanity.
Rather than retreating after the backlash, she doubled down. She defended the film publicly, calling it “deeply personal” and insisting she would rather provoke strong dislike than polite indifference.
Under the Skin remains unsettling because it refuses to explain itself. And that is exactly why Scarlett Johansson still defends it—not despite its “derangement,” but because of it.