There is probably any number of reasons as to why Skins is called ‘Skins’. It could be the gratuitous amount of writhing naked teenage flesh that seems to keep its dubious audience enthralled. It could be a reference to the skinhead subculture, although given the lack anyone even resembling a real person, this is unlikely. It could just be a short, edgy name that everyone recognizes. The real reason Skins is called ‘Skins’ is more likely due to its ability to flay the truth from any subject and wear it like a cruel and horrific parody of real life.
I’ve been watching E4 a fair amount recently, having nothing better to do. I say ‘a fair amount’, but I actually mean Scrubs, and occasionally the Gilmore Girls by bad luck. Anyone who watches E4, or most other channels, for any amount of time must have noticed that Skins is back on. The advert, rather predictably, shows mounds of quivering teenage flesh gradually falling into suggestive clothing whilst looking rather like they’re in a ‘happy place’ instead screaming in mute horror at the realization they’re hurtling towards the ground at killing speed.
The recent advert was for Rich, a whiny teenage angst filled ‘metal head’ and subcultural stereotype. He was busy brooding his way through life until he spotted some tail. Cue loud music, nervous smiles and pointless shots of teenagers drinking. Being a fan of the louder, more aggressive ‘kill your friends style’ music, I decided that I had to watch this episode. I’m usually against watching Skins on principle alone, but decided that my blood pressure was falling back within acceptable boundaries, and needed something to work myself into a lather of rage.
Mere seconds into the episode, we’re treated to some shots of Rich, who is busy dancing to passive-aggressive music in a way not unlike an epileptic chicken on speed being given the electric chair. The scene is ridiculous. Even the most basic principle of headbanging involves some determination on the part of the dancer to actually incur brain damage. Two girls approach and our hero immediately reverts to being a dick to prove that he’s all hardcore. He unplugs the music everyone is listening to, puts his own mix in, throws the horns and screams ‘Slayyyyyeeeerrrr”.
This is done in a way that indicates that all research for this episode had been preformed by someone who was more interested in musical prejudice than actual investigate work, and that he was interviewing the most irritating fifteen-year old ‘metal’ enthusiast in the entire world. Compounding the situation, he wasn’t really listening and one, if not both, of the parties was on crack. The scene jumps to Rich and his mate Aldo, or Aldi, or something, tripping over their own feet and falling flat onto the gravel outside. Presumably to indicate they’d been thrown out, although the lack of doormen and the distance travelled indicates the other teenagers had probably used a trebuchet.
Back at Rich’s brooding nest of despair, he is belated by his whiny friend who has a disturbing sociopathic and borderline rapist attitude towards getting laid. I’m going to have to speed up at this point, because there is still about forty minutes of visual hell before me, and picking out everything is going to result in something that breaks the Internet. Anyway, “Bodies” by Drowning Pool comes on, and Rich snaps awake – in any empty room - throwing the horns and screaming “Flllooooooorrrr!” as if anyone but him even cared. Whatever preconceptions one might have about the metal genre, anyone who sits bolt upright in bed, screaming in rage within five seconds of waking up probably has serious mental health problems.
Jump to library. Alo is waiting for Rich, wearing weird clothes. I don’t know if this is his actual costume for each episode, or whether he’d just devoured Lady Gaga and the Village People and then decided to wear all of their gear, or what, including the dog-lead round his neck. They then perve on a girl through some bookcases, quite unnecessarily moving a single book out of the way for dramatic effect. Alo refers to her as “The Angel of Death”, reinforcing the underlying notion that if you’re going to get something wrong, you might as well get it so wrong that it becomes a hideous hate-fuelled parody from Glenn Beck’s wet dreams.
There are a few pointless jokes, which fail to be funny because your brain can’t take in the horror. Like someone telling a “Why did the chicken…” joke twenty seconds after you watched the Twin Towers collapse. Then there’s some leotards and ass shots, a girl being deliberately offensive in a nauseatingly sly way that makes you want to punch the TV to death. Possibly the most realistic character in the show, then. Skip to the middle, and a ballet dancer plans to ‘get in character’ as a metal-head so she can help Rich to not be a total idiot and learn how to talk to women.
Yeah.
So, having seen the entire episode, I think I’ve managed to put my finger on why I loathe Skins so much. It isn’t one single reason, per se, but because it manages to hit the continuum of being simultaneously real and not real. It reminds me of when I was at college, but in a polished, distorted and exaggerated kind of way, where everything is a bit too over the top. A bit too real. Like the chainsaw cut-scene from Gears of War.
At the same time, it is too unreal. It’s a hideous parody of teenagers condensed into a forty-five minute slot to be enjoyed by people who want to be teenagers again, or people who like the lower limit of soft porn, I guess. There is no time I particularly remember heavy drunken orgies, crashing stolen mobility scooters, or drawing a handgun the size of a small dog to point at someone. None of these things happened during my teenage years, which means I must have lived a very dull and drab life comparatively. Sure, I sat on plenty of walls, smoked lots of cigarettes and drank in pubs with a cavalier attitude to age restrictions.
That’s not to say there are not people who do these things. I can name a couple with no difficulty, who have woken up naked in strange places, smashed up random people’s houses and lost entire weekends in a drug fuelled haze. But if E4 is going to use the excuse of it portraying real issues that challenge the youth of today, or whatever nonsense they’re sprouting, then I can’t buy it. It isn’t a representative look at any college life anyone real had. It doesn’t address or challenge any issues. It’s just vomit and slurry covered sex, drugs and rock and roll. Which doesn’t really do anything for the issues, but if it’s sensationalism you’re after, go for it.
At this point, I’m looking dangerously conservative, which isn’t really my intention. I’m not after a moral panic over Skins, or anything teenagers get up to. Heck, I still endeavour to have nights to forget. It’s all good fun. But it still annoys me, on a deep level. Under the skin, to use a not-so-cunning play on words.
As light entertainment, I guess Skins could do worse, if I’m being fair. It is not unlike another E4 show – Shameless. So if you view Shameless as the epitome of working/underclass life, then you’re probably going to take Skins a bit more seriously than I am. You’re also probably a Daily Mail reader. If you’re going to take Skins as a trashy, unrealistic, overdone romp about people who would – were they not exaggerated out of all proportion – be vaguely passable as teenagers then that’s alright. You might even enjoy it.
That, or you can play the Skins drinking game. Anytime someone smokes a cigarette, makes out, takes a drink, uses profanity, or misrepresents a facet of teenage life, you have a shot of hard liquor. It will make the show more enjoyable and shorter, although you risk dying of alcohol poisoning, liver failure, massive heart palpitations or a brain haemorrhage.
That’s the first time I’ve got to end a post with the word haemorrhage. I’m secretly pleased.
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