Or a creepypasta remake of “Home Alone” steeped in the ineffable fear a young child would feel if the rest of their family abandoned them in the middle of the night.
Or a slow cinema version of “Paranormal Activity” that ditched jump-scares for pervasive dread, maintaining the disembodied camerawork of a found footage film while inverting the formula to show a domestic possession from the house’s Pov.A micro-budget phenomenon that leveraged a fortuitous leak into the kind of buzz that an indie film can’t buy, Kyle Edward Ball’s deeply unnerving “Skinamarink” might be too indebted to YouTube horror trends to feel like a sui generis genre-changer, but this is still the sort of movie so committed to its own strange language that it’s best translated through references to more familiar work.
If the final product amounts to a fucked-up tone poem rather than a full-cooked meal — an inscrutable,
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