In 2013, at the absolute height of her blockbuster fame, Scarlett Johansson made a decision so reckless, so creatively dangerous, that few A-list actors would even consider it. Instead of retreating into CGI spectacles after The Avengers, she handed her safety—and her celebrity invisibility—to a white van, a handful of hidden cameras, and the unpredictable streets of Glasgow.
The result was Under the Skin, a film now widely regarded as one of the most disturbing science-fiction experiments ever put on screen.
Directed by Jonathan Glazer, Under the Skin wasn’t built like a normal movie. There were no traditional extras for many scenes. No rehearsed dialogue. No visible security detail hovering nearby. Instead, Johansson—disguised in a cheap black wig, smeared red lipstick, and a faux-fur coat—drove a van for hours at a time through working-class neighborhoods of Glasgow, engaging real men who had absolutely no idea they were interacting with one of the most famous actresses in the world.
The van itself was a rolling surveillance device. Glazer rigged it with hidden cameras embedded in the dashboard and seats, capturing conversations live. Johansson’s task was deceptively simple: ask for directions, strike up a conversation, offer a ride. The tension, however, was brutally real.
There was no script to fall back on. No guarantee of how strangers would react. While security teams monitored from a distance, for minutes at a time Johansson was alone, improvising interactions with unsuspecting pedestrians. If even one man recognized her, the entire illusion collapsed. If one situation turned volatile, there was no quick cut to safety.
That danger is exactly what Glazer wanted.
The film’s premise—a female alien luring men—was mirrored by its method. The fear audiences feel isn’t manufactured by jump scares or visual effects; it’s rooted in reality. Viewers sense the unease because Johansson herself is navigating it in real time, suppressing instinct while maintaining the cold detachment of her character.
One of the film’s most haunting scenes involves a man with neurofibromatosis, a real individual whose gentle, unguarded interaction with Johansson became the emotional core of the movie. His presence underscored the ethical and psychological weight of the experiment: these weren’t performances—they were fragments of real human vulnerability.
When the men were later informed they had appeared in a film, most were stunned. Releases were signed after the fact. The footage remained raw, awkward, and profoundly unsettling.
Critics responded accordingly. Under the Skin holds near-universal acclaim and has since been named by the BBC as one of the greatest films of the 21st century. Its reputation as “the most unnerving sci-fi film ever made” comes not from spectacle, but from its audacity.
Johansson’s gamble redefined what commitment to art could look like. She didn’t just play an alien studying humanity—she subjected herself to humanity, unfiltered and unscripted. In doing so, she proved that the most terrifying thing in science fiction isn’t a monster from another world.
It’s reality, caught on camera, with nowhere to hide.