If Elizabeth Banks isn’t a renaissance woman, I don’t know who is. Forget her appearing in any number of movies and television programs, Ms. Banks has acted on the stage — she was Chérie in William Inge’s “Bus Stop,” the role essayed in the film version by Marilyn Monroe — and has served as actor, director, and producer for the “Pitch Perfect” franchise. She also helmed last year’s improbable hit, “Cocaine Bear.” Did you see it? The picture is, or so I’ve been told, better than it has any right to be.

What else has Ms. Banks put her hand to? She hosted a podcast, works as a sommelier for Archer Roose Wines, and is co-owner of WHOHAHA, a comedy platform dedicated to “women and gender-expansive creators.” If that weren’t enough, Ms. Banks is the host of an ABC game show, “Press Your Luck.” Clearly, she can’t sit still. Even Leonardo da Vinci had to sleep from time to time.

Ms. Banks may be the lead in Austin Peters’s debut feature, “Skincare,” but she’s not the star. That would be the city of Los Angeles. Rarely has the Left Coast mecca looked so approachable and cozy — like somewhere real people live. Movies tend to exaggerate everything they touch, and the home of Hollywood and Beverly Hills lends itself to hyperbole. Although celebrity culture is at the center of Mr. Peters’s film, it doesn’t define its parameters. Los Angeles: It looks like a nice place to visit and, dare it be said, to live.

Then again, taking into account the tawdry happenings during “Skincare,” maybe not. Mr. Peters describes the film as “sunshine noir.” Although it takes place under the beneficent light of the California sun, it’s also populated by characters who are on the make, on the take, and up to no good. It’s worth recalling that many classic film noirs — at the top of the heap, we have “Double Indemnity” (1944), “In a Lonely Place” (1950), and “The Prowler” (1951) — were set in the City of Angels. “Skincare” is part of a grand and grubby tradition.

The first time we see Hope Goldman (Ms. Banks), it is in extreme close-up. As the camera glides back, we watch as Hope applies make-up to her eyebrows. Not all is right, as there’s a washy run of mascara that’s dried under her left eye. She brushes at it with no great effort and then applies lip gloss. Whereupon the scene transitions to another time and another make-up session. A title card tells us that it’s Los Angeles circa-2013, and the events about to unfold occurred two weeks earlier.

Hope is a famed esthetician — in less falutin’ terminology, a specialist in the care and maintenance of skin — and is about to launch her own line of products. She’s sunk a significant amount of cash into the venture and has everything riding on it. When Hope is interviewed for a morning chat show, she’s of the mind that the segment will be her ticket to, not the big time, but the bigger time. Her affluent clientele thinks the world of Hope and her ointments and creams. These items are shipped from Italy, you know; Italy.

One fine day, Hope notices that a new business has opened its doors directly across the way. She’s neighborly, our heroine, and packs a goody bag of Hope Goldman products as a welcoming gift. Then she realizes that the boutique, Shimmer By Angel, opened by a cagey Angel Vergara (Luis Gerardo Méndez), is in direct competition with her and, from the look of things, serves a more exclusive clientele. Their meeting is awkward and ill-resolved. Hope isn’t happy; she takes back the gift.

Not soon thereafter, distressing things begin to happen. Hope receives a text that features a short, silent video of her standing in the window of her salon. The next morning, she receives a worried phone call from a friend. What, exactly, was last night’s email about? Hope opens her email account and sees a message sent to 4,972 recipients that details the emptiness of her life and how the only remedy is — well, the suggestions are rude.

Other events start piling up and Hope becomes paranoid. Seeking the counsel of friends and associates, she finds that each of them brings their own unsavory attention to the task at hand. No one, it seems, is trustworthy. Behaviors that shouldn’t be encouraged — voyeurism, blackmail, and murder — are set into motion with scarifying ease. 

Mr. Peters, who also wrote the screenplay, directs the subsequent complications with an odd sense of remove: It’s as if he was uncertain whether his movie wasn’t really a comedy. Ms. Banks adds a wink-and-a-nod in her performance, a disappointing tack reiterated by a soundtrack that calls attention to itself. When Ms. Banks’s character has her Norma Desmond moment — well, one can’t help but rue the winking artifice. Up until the DeMillian farewell, “Skincare” takes its skullduggery more seriously than not.