Serafima Serafimova
Over the last two years we have all sought ways to escape our reality. And whilst, judging by the shocking number of friends who got pregnant during lockdown No1, it seems that many opted for a rather primal means of escapism, the rest of us turned to stories that mentally transported us out of the confines of our living rooms. Because good stories, whether they are found in films, books, podcasts or simply through word of mouth, can help us survive even the grimmest of circumstances by forgetting about our worries and fears for a few blissful minutes at a time.
Directed by Mandy Peterat and Adam Graf, with animation from Andrei Ebîncă, Stained Skin is a beguiling short that celebrates the power of storytelling by intertwining two very different yet thematically linked worlds together. By juxtaposing the brutal human world with a fantastical one set in the depths of the sea, the directorial duo have crafted an enchanting piece of cinematic magic. The nine-minute part-animated, part live-action drama leaves you both weightless – with its beautifully drawn and tenderly conceived fairytale characters, and unbearably heavy – with the emotional weight of witnessing our flawed and dehumanising system. Like any good story, Stained Skin is visceral and fraught with the kind of raw emotion that seeps deep under the skin where it leaves its permanent mark.
In the dimly-lit, underground corridors of a textile factory, the mechanical hissing and echoing clanks of the machines set the rhythm to the lives of Samy and Alba – two young women who spend their days pulling endless stretches of fabric and dyeing it the deep blue of the ocean floor. During the night, in an attempt to help her friend cope with the demanding and endless work, Alba tells her the story of Nanami – a little girl who lived in the sea and who was forced to collect pearls and make seaweed dresses, because the rulers had stolen her voice. Nanami’s narrative, and that of the two women become delicately intertwined in a beautifully poignant story of contrasts, connected by a shared moral – that no matter how dark life gets, the people around you have the power to pull you out into the light again.
One of the impressive animated scenes in Stained Skin
I described the short as magical – a word casually used about films and animations that depict the fantastical or share narrative elements with fairytales. And whilst Stained Skin does indeed do that, it’s magical because the experience of watching it is elevated beyond high quality entertainment. Stained Skin opens a door into not just one but two extraordinary worlds, where both the human and the ethereal one feel equally captivating and alien to the audience.
The details around Samy and Alba’s lives are scarce. We’re invited into a dystopian, bleak factory without knowing where it is, when it’s set, or who the characters are (beyond their names), yet we instantly believe them and emotionally invest in their story. Nanami’s world on the other hand is a beautifully conceived animated realm, inhabited by glowing, fairy-like creatures who glide through the shimmering water that surrounds them. Yet despite their differences, we can’t help but be drawn into their plights and end up rooting for all three to find their way out and with it, their happy ending.
Stained Skin is a haunting fairytale with a heartbeat. What it lacks in backstory, it more than makes up for with its strong characters whose stories (both imagined and experienced) are thought-provoking, emotionally charged and likely to stay with you long after the credits roll.