If the great cinematic tradition of LA-set films over the last century has taught us anything, it’s that everyone hopes for something big in the eternally sunny city of dreams. Hope is no different, having spent years building a reliable base of beauty and wellness clients in her image-obsessed town of midriff-baring hikers and aspiring screen stars. But on the verge of her big break, she’s short on cash (though she’s still inexplicably generous with the full-size product samples she hands out to everyone around her), in trouble with her landlord, and increasingly intimidated by the brand-new beauty salon opening right across the street from her shop. Its owner, Angel Vergara (a feisty Gerardo Méndez), seems nice enough at first. But how dare he take away her customers and parking spaces and claim his products do something even more wonderful: not just fight the signs of aging, but reverse them.
Little by little, writer-director Peters (along with his co-writers Sam Freilich and Deering Regan) ramps up the film’s sunny noir intentions. When Hope receives a random text message one day (with a video recorded by someone spying on her), you might wonder if something similar to Michael Haneke’s Cache – a quietly tone paranoid thriller – is in the works. Then Peters reveals he has something else in mind. This lighter psychological Los Angeles flick proves its maker has seen and truly internalized some of cinema’s greats, with a proud La La Land backdrop in which the city plays itself, from Sunset Boulevard to Mulholland Drive.
To be clear: The contemporary pleasures of “Skincare” make no pretense of rivaling those classics. But Peters is nevertheless here to offer a good time at the movies to anyone, whether you’re a lover (and seasoned cynic) of the vast and glittering movie city he knows like the back of his hand, or someone who has simply grasped that crime stories that pursue inexperienced criminals without good options (think “Fargo”) always produce something wild and compelling. It’s truly impressive how Peters weaves together all the components that make LA great, unique and, at times, despicable enough to crush dreams. For every sweeping vista in “Skincare,” there’s a claustrophobic corner. For every extremely sunny day, there’s a dark and dingy room with a window perched so high in the wall that it reinforces a sense of loneliness. And for every wealthy enclave of smooth surfaces, there are those left alone to defy their own wrinkles.
