The art of provocation is one that not many filmmakers have been able to successfully achieve without coming across as overly forced. Some filmmakers court controversy as a means for artistic expression, whereas others do it because they are genuinely fascinated by the reaction from the audience and how they observe particularly unsettling stories. There are an elite few that do it for the sake of challenging the status quo and presenting depictions of society that go against the grain, to the point of revealing unsettling truths that none of us are willing to believe are true, despite their evidence. Gregg Araki somehow occupies all three categories, and as one of the most daring filmmakers of our time has proven himself to be an essential voice in queer cinema, someone whose constant efforts to redefine the parameters of the human condition frequently amount to some truly extraordinary works. Perhaps his most celebrated – or at least the one that is most commonly discussed when looking at his remarkable cinematic legacy – is Mysterious Skin, in which he tells the story of two young men who come from a small town somewhere in the Midwest, and at a very young age both experienced severe sexual abuse, which changed the course of their lives. Neil is a free-spirited sex worker who constantly finds himself pushing the boundaries of his profession to the point of coming very close to extreme danger, while Brian is a reclusive introvert, spending his days obsessing over his belief that he was abducted by aliens as a child. Both have suppressed their childhood trauma, but slowly find themselves haunted by the past, which begins to creep into their memories, forcing them to revisit the painful experiences that led them down their respective paths. A harsh, revealing and deeply disturbing psychological drama, Mysterious Skin (which was based on a novel by Scott Heim, who is also quite a prominent voice in queer art) is a challenging and harrowing portrait of childhood trauma and how the most painful memories are usually those that only emerge later on in life, long after the physical scars have faded from view, but the sensation still lingers indefinitely.

Mysterious Skin was something of a departure for Araki, who by this point was known primarily for the films that constitute what is referred to as his Teen Apocalypse trilogy (The Doom Generation, Totally F***ed Up and Nowhere), which used dark humour and surreal elements to explore the lives of carefree young people as they navigate their identities, and established him as an heir apparent to the likes of John Waters and Kenneth Anger, comparisons that he has proudly taken in stride. Heim’s novel was not too distant from his usual themes to be entirely different, but it did force him to work within more strict parameters, primarily in terms of the tone and style of the narrative, which is much simpler but not any less effective. With broad echoes of Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Todd Haynes (two other queer directors that Araki has found inspiration in emulating, the latter actually being viewed as one of his peers in many circles), the film takes the form of a quiet meditation on the experiences of navigating that ambiguous space between adolescence and adulthood, structuring itself primarily as a coming-of-age narrative in which the inner lives of these characters are distinctly explored, the past interweaving with the present as we unearth the various layers of their lives, which are mainly presented in parallel until the climactic final moments, when the two protagonists encounter one another and the audience finally receives the answers to those questions we developed throughout the film. It’s bold and ambitious filmmaking that builds itself on a strong foundation of investigating that very narrow space between chapters of our lives, when we are old enough to understand that the world is a bitter and hostile place, but too young to be equipped with the right psychological weaponry to handle these experiences, especially when the spectre of sexual abuse lingers so heavily, unconsciously informing every decision made in the lives of these characters.

Based on this premise and the material with which he was working, Araki certainly had his work cut out for him, and as a more dramatic foray into the lives of queer youths, there were added challenges that he needed to address. Mercifully, he found the perfect collaborators to bring these stories to life, which take the form of Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Brady Corbet, both of whom had major breakthroughs with their impeccable performances in this film. These are not easy roles to portray by any means, as they need to not only convincingly play such distinct characters, but have to effectively convey a decade of abuse and psychological torment without becoming heavy-handed in their delivery, which is a challenging process that neither actor seems to struggle achieving, especially since they’re so beautifully guided by Araki, who develops the roles alongside the two leads. It’s a poetic and engaging examination of the journey to adolescence, and the strength of their performances is one of the fundamental merits that allows Mysterious Skin to become such an astonishing piece of cinema. I am not personally enamoured with the idea of calling performances “brave”, since it very rarely actually means all that much outside of describing an actor baring their body or soul, which is not always a reason to highlight an aspect of their performance. However, what Gordon-Levitt and Corbet do in this film is unquestionably courageous, as they play into a kind of vulnerability and deep trauma that they mercifully seem to have not experienced themselves, but still craft performances that align with the childhoods of many other people who will look at Mysterious Skin and see themselves reflected. Seeing yourself on screen – even if only in the form of a character who has undergone some of your personal struggles – is one of the most revelatory moments anyone can have when engaging with art, so credit has to be given to the two leads and Araki for fostering such complex, engaging and beautiful performances that mean much more than we would expect based on a cursory glance.

Araki has always had a very particular approach to the formal elements of his film – he’s not incredulous enough to traditional modes of storytelling that he entirely dismisses them, but rather he sets out to shatter them from the foundation, rebuilding them to create his own unique vision, which is a fascinating approach and the reason behind his films looking and feeling like such bespoke works of art, rebellious masterpieces drawn from the imagination of someone who views the world in a profoundly different way. There’s something oddly enchanting about all of his work, and even a film like Mysterious Skin is defined by its peculiarities in some parts, which only bolsters the underlying themes and helps provoke more conversation around the ideas that anchor this film. Stylistically, this is one of the director’s more dour and unfurnished films – it takes place in a small Midwestern town (Hutchinson in Kansas, which also happens to be Heim’s childhood hometown, which means that there is a substantial amount of authenticity in how he portrays it and the residents), and Araki fixates on the ugliest and most unnerving of locations – sleazy motel rooms, deteriorating playgrounds and ramshackle homes that are barely holding onto the ground on which they are built. Beyond a story of queer identity, Mysterious Skin is a film that correlates the decay of American life with the horrifying acts committed to the innocent behind closed doors, and with such a horrifying theme at the centre of the story, Araki does everything possible to emulate that some sense of despair and sadness that is likely experienced by these characters. Primarily a mood piece in which the atmosphere propels the story, the film follows a slightly stream-of-consciousness approach, offering us the chance to peer voyeuristically into the lives of these young men, told through dreamlike recollections used to soften the blow of their harsh, disturbing reality. The filmmaking itself is absolutely remarkable, and Araki far exceeds our expectations as far as detailing the plight of these boys in terms of the more cinematic elements that would usually be overlooked in a film with this degree of thematic complexity.

Mysterious Skin is certainly not an easy film to watch – it’s uncomfortable, violent (both physically and psychologically, the two being paired together in a way that is disturbing but never excessive) and deeply unsettling, which is the precise purpose behind telling this story. Comfort is not a priority for Araki when adapting Heim’s shocking, haunting novel – instead, he’s focused on examining these themes in a way that reveals them in a raw, visceral manner without becoming too overwrought, but still leaving an indelible impression on the viewer. The director knows where to place certain elements, and the film becomes a masterful depiction of the process of provocation without the desire to shock in the traditional sense, but rather silently disturb, which it does through the slow and methodical unpeeling of common themes such as placid domesticity, nostalgia and small town life, all of which are intentionally mangled by Heim and Araki, perverted to the point where it evokes the most carnal, brutally harrowing reaction imaginable, without ever crossing that boundary of decency that the director does honour, even if he crawls along the razor-thin edge of morality that separates this film from the countless other attempts to cause the audience undue distress by exposing the perversions of suburban life. A masterpiece of independent filmmaking and one of the defining coming-of-age films produced at the time, Mysterious Skin is an exceptional film that has only become more timely as the years have progressed, and it is as essential a text today as it was twenty years ago, particularly in its astute and sadly very realistic depictions of sexual abuse and how it is something that leaves traces that we often only start to discover later in life, forced to reckon with a past that many would prefer to forget, but know they never can, purely since the trauma bonds to the human soul and never entirely fades, lingering on without any demise.