The thing I remember most about Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2016) was how uncomfortable it made me feel. This wasn’t so much to do with the story or characters. Rather, it had everything to do with these shots of seemingly everyday objects and activities that were intermittently spread throughout the film. Armpit hair. A dude eating spaghetti. Slicing a fish at the kitchen counter. Harmless by themselves, right? No, actually. The reason these things were so uncomfortable was because they were given focus. Isolated. Just because. For no apparent reason.▶Kei Oyama’s HAND SOAP operates on much the same principle. It’s a 16-minute animated short available for free on Vimeo that was well-received when it did the film festival circuit on release. It's about an acne-ridden boy and his dysfunctional family. Structurally, the short consists of a series of vignettes that give the audience a very uneasy glimpse into this very abnormal family and their interactions.

The entire film is designed to make you feel as uncomfortable as possible. This is chiefly and most effectively done via the aesthetic design. The art has this grainy quality that is in a constant state of flux. It makes frequent use of closeups and extreme closeups. The subject of these closeups are blemished faces and highly textured fingers and everyday objects. Much like Killing of a Sacred Deer, things that are familiar and quotidian are thereby rendered foreign and grotesque through this extreme focus. The human body then - the self and especially the adolescent self - is the vehicle that drives this ugliness. It’s body horror without the horror.

Per the prominent role fingers play, not to mention the film’s title, there’s a special emphasis on touch. For example, there’s this visual motif where hands hesitantly reach out towards doorknobs. It’s executed well enough to make even the most stone-faced viewer squeamish. This all ties into the notion of affect film theory, which basically examines how cinema vicariously stimulates the audience's senses. And whilst touch reigns supreme in HAND SOAP, it’s not alone. The sparing sound effects (there’s next to no dialogue) - the soft howling of the wind, the squeaking of a faucet - are equally visceral and disconcerting.

It’s all very on the nose, although this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The shenanigans the family get up to are equally blunt. However, towards the film’s end there’s this really weird segment; weirder than the rest of the short anyhow. I could have done without it. Although you can kind of understand the idea behind it, it’s bizarre to the point that it breaks the tension that’s been suffocating you for the previous ten minutes.

As a snapshot detailing the ugliness and sensitivity of adolescence, HAND SOAP somewhat succeeds. As an experiment in sensuous and affective cinema, it absolutely succeeds. Let’s be clear: HAND SOAP is not a pleasurable viewing experience by any stretch of the imagination.

But it’s definitely an experience.