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#721 - The Lobster
Yorgos Lanthimos, 2015
In a dystopian world where single people are forced to form relationships with one another or be turned into animals, a newly-single man arrives at a hotel designed to facilitate such couplings.
It takes a truly well-crafted film to get under my skin and The Lobster is definitely an example of such a film. It skimps over convoluted world-building in order to focus on its very bizarre premise; namely, that people who are not involved in romantic relationships must be forced to acquire them or risk literally losing their humanity. The film introduces us to Colin Farrell's paunchy, bespectacled everyman as he is made to take up residence in a remote countryside hotel after recently becoming single. Once there, he has forty-five days to find a suitable partner so that they can move on with their lives together in the city. The time limit can be extended if the guests at the hotel can go out into the woods and capture the rebellious "loners" who live in the woods. If the guests do not find suitable partners before their time runs out, then they are turned into the animal of their choice and let loose into the wild. Once Farrell is set up inside the hotel, he begins his journey to find a way out of his predicament one way or the another.
I already referred to The Lobster as the darkest comedy of the year (that I've seen, anyway) due to the bitterly amusing undercurrent to such a superficially horrifying concept. There's the hotel staff's cheerfully transparent interactions with their lonely charges (even as they are shown torturing guests for breaking the simplest of rules) or the various disturbing ways in which the increasingly desperate guests try to get out of the inherently sadistic program (which don't even bear mentioning considering their gruesome natures). This much is borne out by the casting, which features a number of actors who have prominent backgrounds in off-kilter comedy such as John C. Reilly, Olivia Colman, and Michael Smiley. Such a choice works to justify the incredibly stilted acting that takes place between the various characters; after all, they are all trying very hard to lie not just to others but to themselves and such a fact only feeds into the hopeless absurdity of the situation. Some of this is arguably done to a fault, as is the case with Rachel Weisz's voice-over narration that is broadly enunciated as it balances ponderous ruminations on the harsh nature of their reality with crudely banal descriptions of sexual fantasies.
The ways in which The Lobster expands on its central metaphor constantly prevent it from growing stale as it proceeds to develop the world and the characters within it. It'd be one thing if it was just the hotel staff forcing such an ostensibly cruel ultimatum onto its hapless guests, but the ways in which the general population appear to embrace the ludicrous codes of courtship even outside the confines of the hotel is strangely plausible. Relationship compatibility in the world of The Lobster seems to be entirely determined by individuals sharing a single common characteristic, with some especially desperate people attempting to fake having the same distinguishing features as others in order to find a mate, thus taking existing romantic ideals and taking them to incredibly absurd levels as characters are incapable of processing any other ways to bond with one another. While it's not exactly a dystopian film without a resistance movement, the film still sets up a group of rebels who are as fanatically committed to their own ideals as the system they oppose and thus aren't exactly preferable for characters who are just looking to live out their lives in peace.
There is considerable strength to the technique on display as Lanthimos blends unflinchingly dull and static camerawork against elaborate technical flourishes that often involve slow-motion to considerable effect. Though the film is arguably a little too slow for its own good at times, the languid pacing is carried off with purpose and is naturally punctuated with the odd scene of violence that can range from darkly humourous to disturbingly harsh and occasionally both at the same time. The soundtrack, which features abrasive application of classical music to emphasise the world's extremely thin veneer of class and dignity, may grate a bit at times but it's definitely used to good effect for the most part. The Lobster may prove extremely alienating in its use of graphic yet effectively restrained depictions of sex and violence, but if you can handle it then you can definitely find something of worth here as it keeps your attention until it ends on just the right note.
Yorgos Lanthimos, 2015
In a dystopian world where single people are forced to form relationships with one another or be turned into animals, a newly-single man arrives at a hotel designed to facilitate such couplings.
It takes a truly well-crafted film to get under my skin and The Lobster is definitely an example of such a film. It skimps over convoluted world-building in order to focus on its very bizarre premise; namely, that people who are not involved in romantic relationships must be forced to acquire them or risk literally losing their humanity. The film introduces us to Colin Farrell's paunchy, bespectacled everyman as he is made to take up residence in a remote countryside hotel after recently becoming single. Once there, he has forty-five days to find a suitable partner so that they can move on with their lives together in the city. The time limit can be extended if the guests at the hotel can go out into the woods and capture the rebellious "loners" who live in the woods. If the guests do not find suitable partners before their time runs out, then they are turned into the animal of their choice and let loose into the wild. Once Farrell is set up inside the hotel, he begins his journey to find a way out of his predicament one way or the another.
I already referred to The Lobster as the darkest comedy of the year (that I've seen, anyway) due to the bitterly amusing undercurrent to such a superficially horrifying concept. There's the hotel staff's cheerfully transparent interactions with their lonely charges (even as they are shown torturing guests for breaking the simplest of rules) or the various disturbing ways in which the increasingly desperate guests try to get out of the inherently sadistic program (which don't even bear mentioning considering their gruesome natures). This much is borne out by the casting, which features a number of actors who have prominent backgrounds in off-kilter comedy such as John C. Reilly, Olivia Colman, and Michael Smiley. Such a choice works to justify the incredibly stilted acting that takes place between the various characters; after all, they are all trying very hard to lie not just to others but to themselves and such a fact only feeds into the hopeless absurdity of the situation. Some of this is arguably done to a fault, as is the case with Rachel Weisz's voice-over narration that is broadly enunciated as it balances ponderous ruminations on the harsh nature of their reality with crudely banal descriptions of sexual fantasies.
The ways in which The Lobster expands on its central metaphor constantly prevent it from growing stale as it proceeds to develop the world and the characters within it. It'd be one thing if it was just the hotel staff forcing such an ostensibly cruel ultimatum onto its hapless guests, but the ways in which the general population appear to embrace the ludicrous codes of courtship even outside the confines of the hotel is strangely plausible. Relationship compatibility in the world of The Lobster seems to be entirely determined by individuals sharing a single common characteristic, with some especially desperate people attempting to fake having the same distinguishing features as others in order to find a mate, thus taking existing romantic ideals and taking them to incredibly absurd levels as characters are incapable of processing any other ways to bond with one another. While it's not exactly a dystopian film without a resistance movement, the film still sets up a group of rebels who are as fanatically committed to their own ideals as the system they oppose and thus aren't exactly preferable for characters who are just looking to live out their lives in peace.
There is considerable strength to the technique on display as Lanthimos blends unflinchingly dull and static camerawork against elaborate technical flourishes that often involve slow-motion to considerable effect. Though the film is arguably a little too slow for its own good at times, the languid pacing is carried off with purpose and is naturally punctuated with the odd scene of violence that can range from darkly humourous to disturbingly harsh and occasionally both at the same time. The soundtrack, which features abrasive application of classical music to emphasise the world's extremely thin veneer of class and dignity, may grate a bit at times but it's definitely used to good effect for the most part. The Lobster may prove extremely alienating in its use of graphic yet effectively restrained depictions of sex and violence, but if you can handle it then you can definitely find something of worth here as it keeps your attention until it ends on just the right note.