Clean, Shaven made me feel a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’ve watched so many disturbing films—but none of them have ever done this to me. And the worst part is… I don’t even know what the feeling is.
It’s not fear. Not sadness. Not even horror. It’s something else—something sick. Like my brain’s been twisted into a shape it’s not supposed to take. I feel mentally warped. Unclean. Hollow.
We’re put into the mind of Peter. We don’t know reality. We don’t know what’s true, what’s false, what’s memory, what’s delusion. Nothing feels right. The sound, the static, the way time folds in on itself—it puts you in his paranoia. And then leaves you there.
What even happened? Is he a pedophile? A murderer? Just some broken man trying to hold onto a daughter he barely knows? The film refuses to say. But that’s the most terrifying part—that is Peter’s everyday life. And for a while, it became mine.
I will never rewatch this. I never want to feel this way again. And maybe that’s the point. Mental illness isn’t quirky, or poetic, or deep—it’s this. This gnawing, sickening distortion of the world and of yourself. People say they’ll never rewatch Mysterious Skin because of how visually disturbing it is—but Clean, Shaven doesn’t scar your eyes, it rewires your head. This film makes it violently clear:
Mental illness is not something you want. Stop romanticising it.
Clean, Shaven made me feel a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’ve watched so many disturbing films—but none of them have ever done this to me. And the worst part is… I don’t even know what the feeling is.
It’s not fear. Not sadness. Not even horror. It’s something else—something sick. Like my brain’s been twisted into a shape it’s not supposed to take. I feel mentally warped. Unclean. Hollow.
We’re put into the mind of Peter. We don’t know reality. We don’t know what’s true, what’s false, what’s memory, what’s delusion. Nothing feels right. The sound, the static, the way time folds in on itself—it puts you in his paranoia. And then leaves you there.
What even happened? Is he a pedophile? A murderer? Just some broken man trying to hold onto a daughter he barely knows? The film refuses to say. But that’s the most terrifying part—that is Peter’s everyday life. And for a while, it became mine.
I will never rewatch this. I never want to feel this way again. And maybe that’s the point. Mental illness isn’t quirky, or poetic, or deep—it’s this. This gnawing, sickening distortion of the world and of yourself. People say they’ll never rewatch Mysterious Skin because of how visually disturbing it is—but Clean, Shaven doesn’t scar your eyes, it rewires your head. This film makes it violently clear:
Mental illness is not something you want. Stop romanticising it.
