by MATTHEW HAYS

I'll never forget the joyful expressions of disgust we would scream out as wee children. If something repulsed us, we would yell, "Gross me out!" As the ante got upped, however, we clever children needed better things to shriek. What to squeal? The answer became clear: "Gross me right out the window!" we would say, indicating that whatever it was we were commenting on registered a higher level of grossness.

The directorial debut of screenwriter Marina de Van's In My Skin requires an even greater variation on the saying. As I sat through this wicked orgy of self devouring and mutilation, I was tempted to scream, "Gross me right off the continent!" or even "Gross me right out of the universe!" Meanwhile, the Cinéma du Parc may want to consider installing vomit troughs in the aisles of whichever room it is they decide to screen this.

Trust me, you'll understand when you see it. De Van, who co-screenwrote a couple of films with celebrated French filmmaker François Ozon (among them 8 Femmes), here stars as a young corporate climbing woman whose trouble starts with a nasty leg wound. Stuck at a boring party early in the film, de Van goes for a stroll out back and trips, cutting herself on some jagged metal. She pops indoors, ignoring the injury, until she realizes it's more serious than she thought.

After examining her wounds, de Van sees the perfect opportunity for an existential breakdown, becoming fascinated and ultimately obsessed with her gaping sores. She prods them, pokes at them, peels them and when that fun runs out she starts slicing up new wounds. In My Skin seems to approach some kind of commentary on eating disorders, as de Van expresses control over her body by devouring it. Not only is cutting yourself up mysteriously exhilarating, she finds, but so is letting your own blood drip all over your face and chewing and sucking on your own open wounds. Eat your heart out, Cronenberg Crash victims.

It's rare that I'm so affected by a movie - hundreds of screenings a year often create the sensation of being more than a bit punch drunk - but In My Skin had me enraptured, despite its content. "It's only a movie," I kept having to tell myself as, in excruciatingly realistic detail, de Van continued to chew and rip at her own skin with her teeth, blood dripping from her mouth. (Remember the mantra: "It's only a movie, it's only a movie…")

It may sound like I'm focussing too much on one aspect of In My Skin, but the gross-out factor is really an inherent part of what de Van is striving to get at. Like Cronenberg, she's effectively collapsed body and mind obsessions into one. It's one wild movie, but also one many will find difficult. Don't say you weren't warned.

In My Skin opens Friday, Feb. 13

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