‘Skinamarink’ and the Eerie Horror of Nothingness
Kyle Edward Ball’s feature film debut is a long-winded, palpable slice of analog terror.
I’ve seen plenty of movie-goers leave a theater feeling perplexed in my time, but I’ve never witnessed so many people enter a showing looking confused until I saw Skinamarink.
In addition to its large main screen, the Plaza Theatre Atlanta has two upstairs screening rooms that seat 50 people each. I brought my self and a local brew into one of them, casually assuming I’d be able to experience whatever the hell this film was with maybe three other people.
I was all-the-way wrong — and so was every other person who walked through the screening room doors.
One by one, I heard little utterances of, “Oh, wow,” and, “Wait, is this the right room?” and, “Well, there’s space at the front,” as people filled the place up. A 50-seat theater is cozy indeed, so all of us ended up trading befuddled looks and chuckles over the same question:
How did we all end up selling out a screening of a movie that absolutely no one is talking about?
