Skincare

When you have a name like Hope Goldman, two words lacquered in shiny aspirational vibes, you probably know it’s ought to be shared with the masses. Indeed, who wouldn’t want someone named Hope to bring exactly that into their lives; their one-way journey towards the inevitable? In frequent music video director Austin Peters’ nifty and gleamingly cinematic LA exploit “Skincare,” that name belongs to an agile Tinseltown aesthetician played by Elizabeth Banks and decorates the minimally designed containers of her upcoming skincare line—products that collectively offer a sense of hope for the future. Maybe they’ll give you back that gone-too-soon glow of youth. And if used persistently, they’ll perhaps slow down your aging. You can only hope…

If the splendid cinematic tradition of LA-based movies has taught us anything in the past century, it is that everyone hopes for something grand in the perennially sunny City of Dreams. Hope is no different, after years of building a reliable stable of beauty and wellness clientele in her image-obsessed city of bare-midriffed hikers and aspiring screen sirens. But on the verge of her big launch, she is short on cash (though still inexplicably generous with those full-sized product samples she dishes out to everyone in her orbit), in trouble with her landlord, and increasingly intimidated by that brand-new beauty parlor that opens up right across the street from her shop. Its owner, Angel Vergara (a spirited Gerardo Méndez), seems nice enough at first. But how dare he steal her clients and parking spots and claim something even more miraculous with his products: not just to battle but to reverse the signs of aging on one’s skin.

Steadily, writer-director Peters (along with his co-writers Sam Freilich and Deering Regan) dial up the film’s sunny noir intentions. Once Hope receives a random text message one day (of a video filmed by someone spying on her), you might wonder if something akin to Michael Haneke’s “Cache”—a paranoid thriller with a quiet register—is in the cards. Then, Peters reveals he has something else in mind. This lighter psychological Los Angeles caper proves its maker has seen and genuinely internalized some of the greats of cinema with a proud La La Land backdrop where the city plays itself, from “Sunset Boulevard” to “Mulholland Drive.”

To be clear, the contemporary pleasures of “Skincare” don’t claim to be on par with these all-timers. But Peters is nonetheless here to show everyone a good time at the movies, whether you’re a fellow lover (and experienced cynic) of the vast and sparkling movie town he knows like the back of his hand or someone who just grasps that crime stories that track inexperienced criminals with no good options (think, “Fargo”) will always yield to something wild and compelling. It’s truly impressive how Peters braids together all the components that make LA great, unique, and sometimes despicable enough to shatter one’s dreams. For every wide-open vista, there is a claustrophobic corner in “Skincare.” For every aggressively sunny day, there is a dark and dingy room with a window placed so high on a wall that it reinforces a sunken feel. And for every wealthy enclave with smooth surfaces, there are those left alone to brave their own wrinkles.

A hardworking entrepreneur who’s well-earned good things for herself and her ambitious right-hand person Marine (MJ Rodriguez), Hope is trying damn hard not to belong to that latter group. But she is left with no choice but to enlist the help of the slimy life coach Jordan (a hilarious Lewis Pullman) and, on occasion, her smitten mechanic when her email, website, and client list get hacked, with the hacker posting sexual images on her accounts, creating personal ads on her behalf and sending seedy spam to her contacts from Hope’s address. Is it Angel doing all this, or are other forces at play to bring Hope down?

The answer isn’t necessarily that hard to figure out, but that suspense isn’t the ultimate point of “Skincare” anyway. Instead, the film assertively tackles questions around how our youth-obsessed culture aims to rattle the confidence of an aging woman with well-earned accolades in her field of work (that “Sunset Boulevard” reference again) and that there will always be opportunists around to exploit our diminishing sense of self-worth.

The film’s greatest asset, along with a sun-dappled cinematography, Banks is certainly game for every shade of Hope in her journey of poor decisions, escalated by bad luck and an eerie city that couldn’t care less about who falls down or survives the elements unscratched. In that, “Skincare” nails a routine well worth investing in.