Cosmic Impostors: Under the Skin vs The Thing – Which Masters Body Horror?

In the chill of isolation, whether Antarctic ice or urban shadows, two films redefine terror through the violation of flesh and identity. But which one claims supremacy in sci-fi horror?

Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin (2013) and John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982) stand as towering achievements in sci-fi horror, each dissecting the fragility of human form and trust. These films plunge viewers into realms where the body becomes a battleground for alien infiltration, blending cosmic indifference with visceral body horror. This analysis pits their narratives, techniques, and enduring impacts against one another to determine which emerges as the genre’s true pinnacle.

• Both films master paranoia through shape-shifting invaders, but The Thing‘s practical effects deliver unmatched visceral terror.
• Under the Skin excels in philosophical dread and minimalist style, challenging viewers on identity and empathy.
• Ultimately, Carpenter’s masterpiece edges ahead for its perfect fusion of isolation, effects, and ensemble dynamics in redefining sci-fi horror.

Shadows of the Other: Alien Predators Unveiled

The core premise of both films hinges on extraterrestrial entities that mimic humanity to infiltrate and destroy from within. In Under the Skin, Scarlett Johansson portrays an unnamed alien seductress who prowls Glasgow’s rainy streets in a white van, luring isolated men to a void-like pool where their skins are harvested. The film unfolds in stark, observational vignettes, drawing from Michel Faber’s novel but transforming it into a hypnotic meditation on otherness. Glazer’s camera lingers on mundane encounters – hitchhikers, street conversations – building unease through the alien’s emotionless gaze, her perfect mimicry cracking only in fleeting moments of curiosity.

Contrast this with The Thing, where a shape-shifting organism crash-lands in Antarctica, assimilating the Norwegian research team before infecting the American outpost at U.S. Outpost 31. Kurt Russell’s R.J. MacReady leads a crew of grizzled scientists and pilots, their paranoia escalating as blood tests and flamethrowers become tools of desperate survival. Carpenter adapts John W. Campbell’s novella Who Goes There?, amplifying the claustrophobia of endless whiteouts. Every glance, every argument pulses with suspicion, the Thing’s transformations erupting in grotesque symphonies of tentacles and exploding heads.

Both narratives thrive on the horror of proximity: the alien in Under the Skin walks among us unnoticed, her predation intimate and seductive, while the Thing hides in plain sight among trusted colleagues. Yet Under the Skin leans poetic, almost ethnographic, filming non-actors in real locations to blur fiction and reality. The Thing counters with raw pragmatism, its outpost a pressure cooker where masculinity frays under siege. This setup allows Carpenter to explore group dynamics in ways Glazer’s solitary hunter cannot match.

Violated Flesh: Body Horror at Its Apex

Body horror pulses at the heart of these films, each pushing the limits of physical violation. Under the Skin confronts viewers with the alien’s industrial lair, a black abyss where men’s bodies sink, their skins flayed to reveal writhing red musculature beneath. These sequences, captured in stark black-and-white contrasts, evoke a primal stripping away of humanity, symbolising the commodification of the male form. Johansson’s performance – stiff, alien accents giving way to tentative humanity – underscores the theme of bodily autonomy, her eventual rebellion a poignant fracture in the predator’s shell.

The Thing escalates this to operatic extremes with Rob Bottin’s revolutionary practical effects. The iconic chest-chater scene, where a man’s torso splits into a flower of teeth and limbs, remains a benchmark for visceral disgust. Assimilation unfolds in real-time: dogs merge into spider-like abominations, heads detach and skitter like crabs. These effects, crafted with animatronics, prosthetics, and reverse photography, ground the horror in tangible revulsion, far surpassing digital illusions of later imitators.

Glazer’s approach favours implication over explosion; the skin-shedding is nightmarish but abstract, prioritising psychological unease. Carpenter, however, makes every mutation a spectacle of democratic horror – no body safe, from Blair’s spider transformation to the final ambiguous blaze. This relentless assault cements The Thing as body horror’s gold standard, its effects not mere gore but metaphors for cellular betrayal and lost identity.

In comparing impact, Under the Skin disturbs through erotic abstraction, inviting contemplation of the gaze and desire. The Thing assaults the senses, mirroring the chaos of viral pandemic fears that would later resonate globally. Bottin’s work, achieved on a modest budget amid grueling 18-hour days, outshines even modern CGI in authenticity.

Isolation’s Cruel Embrace

Setting amplifies dread in both. Under the Skin‘s urban alienation – grey Scottish tenements, motorways at dusk – turns everyday spaces into predatory hunting grounds. The alien navigates a world of human disconnection, her victims often loners or immigrants, highlighting societal fractures. Glazer’s hidden cameras capture genuine reactions, enhancing the film’s documentary edge and cosmic detachment.

The Thing‘s Antarctic hellscape enforces total isolation, the outpost a fragile bubble against blizzards and darkness. Winter’s approach strands the crew with no rescue, every radio crackle a false hope. Carpenter’s widescreen compositions trap actors in corridors and labs, shadows lengthening like encroaching infection. This environmental siege mirrors the Thing’s insidious spread, paranoia blooming in confined quarters.

While Glazer’s city feels oppressively populated yet empty, Carpenter’s ice prison is literally finite – twelve men, one monster. The result? The Thing builds unbearable tension through interpersonal erosion, trust dissolving faster than flesh.

Soundscapes of Dread

Auditory design elevates both to masterful heights. Mica Levi’s score for Under the Skin – screeching violins and industrial drones – mimics alien physiology, jarring against natural sounds. It underscores the predator’s inscrutability, her voice a monotone lure. Ennio Morricone’s synthesiser pulses in The Thing evoke heartbeat dread, sparse motifs amplifying silence between horrors. Carpenter’s sound team layers squelches and screams for immersive chaos.

Levi’s atonal assault provokes discomfort; Morricone’s restraint heightens anticipation. Together, they prove sound as vital as visuals in sci-fi horror.

Philosophical Depths: Identity and the Abyss

Under the Skin probes deeper into existential questions. The alien’s awakening – touching snow, fleeing motorbikes – questions what makes us human: empathy, vulnerability? It indicts voyeurism, the audience complicit in her hunts. The Thing grapples with collectivism versus individualism, MacReady’s lone-wolf ethos clashing with groupthink. Cosmic horror looms in both – indifferent universe, humanity as vermin – but Glazer’s film philosophises more explicitly.

Yet Carpenter weaves philosophy into action: the blood test scene, with its Petrov test ingenuity, celebrates human ingenuity amid nihilism. The Thing‘s ambiguity endures – who survives? – fuelling endless debate.

Legacy in the Void

The Thing birthed the modern assimilation trope, influencing The Faculty, Slither, and games like Dead Space. Its 2011 prequel paid homage, though paling in comparison. Under the Skin inspired arthouse sci-fi like Ex Machina, its boldness earning cult status. Carpenter’s film, however, permeates pop culture, from memes to pandemic metaphors.

Critical reception flipped: The Thing flopped in 1982 amid E.T. fever, now a classic (94% Rotten Tomatoes). Under the Skin divided on release (84%), praised for audacity.

Production Maelstroms

Glazer’s five-year shoot used hidden cams, Johansson enduring isolation for authenticity. The Thing‘s effects pushed Bottin to breakdown, Carpenter battling studio interference. These trials forged their raw power.

In verdict, The Thing triumphs: superior effects, tension, rewatchability. Under the Skin innovates philosophically, but Carpenter’s visceral grip reigns supreme in sci-fi horror’s pantheon.

Director in the Spotlight: John Carpenter

John Carpenter, born 16 January 1948 in Carthage, New York, emerged from a musical family – his father a music professor – igniting his lifelong synth-score passion. Studying film at the University of Southern California, he co-wrote The Resurrection of Bronco Billy (1970), earning an Academy Award nomination. His directorial debut, Dark Star (1974), a low-budget sci-fi comedy, showcased his deadpan humour and resourcefulness.

Breakthrough came with Assault on Precinct 13 (1976), a siege thriller blending Rio Bravo with urban grit. Halloween (1978) revolutionised slasher films, its 1:1:1 ratio (time, budget, gross in millions) and piano-stab theme iconic. Carpenter followed with The Fog (1980), a ghostly yarn starring Adrienne Barbeau, his then-wife.

The Thing (1982) marked his effects-driven peak, adapting Campbell amid practical FX innovation. Christine (1983) possessed a Plymouth Fury; Starman (1984) earned Jeff Bridges an Oscar nod. The 1980s saw Big Trouble in Little China (1986), a cult action-fantasy with Kurt Russell, and Prince of Darkness (1987), quantum horror.

1990s brought They Live (1988, released late), satirical alien invasion; In the Mouth of Madness (1994), Lovecraftian meta-horror; Village of the Damned (1995), creepy kids remake. Escape from L.A. (1996) sequelled his 1981 dystopia. Later works include Vampires (1998), western horror; Ghosts of Mars (2001); and The Ward (2010), his final directorial effort.

Carpenter’s influences – Howard Hawks, Nigel Kneale – shine in minimalism and synth scores self-composed. A genre maestro, he shaped modern horror, mentoring via Masters of Horror (2005-7). Post-retirement, he tours with soundtracks, his legacy enduring.

Actor in the Spotlight: Scarlett Johansson

Scarlett Johansson, born 22 November 1984 in New York City to a Danish-Jewish mother and New York-born father, began acting at eight in off-Broadway plays. Her film debut, North (1994), led to Just Cause (1995) with Sean Connery. Breakthrough in The Horse Whisperer (1998) at 13, opposite Robert Redford.

Teen roles included Ghost World (2001), indie hit earning Gotham nods, and Lost in Translation (2003), Sofia Coppola’s whispery romance netting BAFTA and Golden Globe noms. Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) showcased painterly poise.

Action pivot: The Island (2005), then Marvel’s Black Widow in Iron Man 2 (2010), anchoring the MCU through The Avengers (2012), Captain America: Civil War (2016), solo Black Widow (2021). Amidst, Her (2013) voiced seductive OS, Oscar-nominated.

Under the Skin (2013) revealed arthouse depth, her physical commitment transformative. Lucy (2014) superhuman thriller; Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015). Sing (2016) voiced diva; Ghost in the Shell (2017) cyberpunk controversy.

Recent: Marriage Story (2019), dual Oscar noms; Jojo Rabbit (2019); Black Widow. Producing via These Pictures, she champions female stories. With BAFTA, numerous noms, Johansson embodies versatility from blockbuster to avant-garde.

Which film chills you deeper? Share your verdict in the comments and explore more cosmic terrors on AvP Odyssey.

Bibliography

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• Levi, M. (2013) Score notes for Under the Skin. BFI Soundtrack Library.
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