Nobody was more delighted by Jonathan Glazer‘s Sexy Beast (’00) than myself. I will revere that stone classic (particularly Ben Kingsley and Ray Winstone‘s performances) for the rest of my life. And while I was nowhere near as turned on by Glazer’s Birth (’04) I more or less approved as far as that went. But his latest, Under The Skin, which I saw the day before yesterday, is profoundly alienating — dull, meandering, murkily photographed, incoherent, nothing. It is not a pleasant or welcome thing to consider the possibility that Glazer has completely lost that spark or spirit or deliciously bent perspective that informed or at least contributed to the excellence of Sexy Beast, but Under The Skin demands as much. I sat there and sat there, waiting for “it” to happen, for any notion of what this film might be saying or even hinting at, for anything at all to come together in my head…and nothing happened. My eyes glazed over. My spirit sank into the swamp.