The Lobster
(2015)
(SPOILERS) A
film for which the word “quirky” could have been designed. The Lobster fair old quivers with quirk, but unfortunately its
idiosyncratic, deadpan satire of relationship mores isn’t entirely sustained across
its two-hour length. And yet, despite its sometimes overpowering affectation
powering a slender premise, the sort of thing that would probably make for a
much better short film than a feature, I found Yorgos Lanthimos’ English
language feature debut fitfully engrossing. That’s not to say it’s particularly
clever or insightful – its points are really rather crude – but it has an
infectiously pitch black sense of humour, and boasts Colin Farrell in
particularly fine form.
Admittedly,
I was half hoping for something more than its most obvious agenda, comprising an offbeat dissection of societal
and personal attitudes to relationships as they encompass themes of conformity and expectation. At
times, The Lobster comes self-consciously close to exclaiming “I’m mental, I am”, in danger of
unravelling its entire conceit. Mostly, though, its wilful battiness tends to win out.
Farrell’s
David, having been dumped for another man by his wife, is consigned to a hotel
with a company of socially unacceptable singles, where he has 45 days to pair
up or he will be transformed into an animal of his choice (the crustacean of
the title). In order to successfully couple they must find a common
characteristic or interest that marks them as a match, which leads to various ruses
by way of attempting to hoodwink an intended and avoid a bestial demise.
None of the
characters are named aside from David, so Ashley Jensen (of Extras; she’s suffered enough, having to
regularly perform opposite Gervais) is the Biscuit Woman, while Jon C Reilly is
the Lisping Man, Ben Whishaw the Limping Man, and Angeliki Papoulia the
Heartless Woman. The latter is particularly adept at delaying transformation through
success in regular hunting parties for loaners (for which they receive
additional days suspending their sentence). She’s also central to one of the
most malignantly amusing passages, as David attempts to “woo” her by pretending
to be entirely unaffected and completely disinterested in the welfare of
others.
Limping Man
has, through the subterfuge of portraying the same malady as Nosebleed Woman
(Jessica Barden), forestalled an animal fate, but things aren’t going very well
between them so they have been given a daughter (in an example of how obvious
the picture’s nudges can be, it is noted of problem relationships, “That usually helps a lot”). David kicks
her, advising “Now you’ll have a limp and
be more like your father”. Subsequently, the sequence where the Heartless
Woman tests David’s resolve is much less funny.
The loners
are just as bad, as one would expect from a system inviting polarities. They
encourage masturbation but are punitive towards intimate fraternisation, and
the unsubtle gags come thick and fast (or maybe that should be slow and
congealed?); “We dance by ourselves.
That’s why we only play electronic music” advises Léa Seydoux’s
psycho leader.
Rachel
Weisz’s Short Sighted Woman has something in common with David
(short-sightedness), who has fled the hotel, and they embark on an illicit,
covert relationship. The loners’ punishments include the bizarre (a hot boiled
egg under the armpit) and the horrifically cruel, just like the hoteliers (where
Lisping Man has his fingers jammed in a toaster).
Particularly so is Short Sighted
Woman’s fate, compounded by David’s lack of conviction when it comes to the
crunch; is this a lesson in essential selfishness overriding any fanciful ideas
of “meant to be”? Is that why David is the only named character, because he’s
important only unto himself (his brother, now a dumb animal its easier to care
for unconditionally, is also named)? Like us all (as evidenced by the Hotel
Manager’s – Olivia Coleman – husband when faced with an ultimatum).
If that's the case, it’s
a particularly grim sentiment, but while The
Lobster is caustic and acute in places, in the lies we tell and the lies
we’re told, its stylised wackiness also renders it rather glib. And it can’t be
coincidental that its best moments are where it embraces its own twisted silliness
rather than tries to massage its message (“There’s
blood and biscuits everywhere”, observes Heartless Woman of the mess
Biscuit Woman has made of the paving). Following the escape to the woods, it begins
to plod, losing its antic energy and becoming merely diverting.
The
performances are as key to Lanthimos’ tone as Thimios Bakatakis’ precise
cinematography. Farrell is always at his best when playing against his star
persona (which has rarely worked out well box office-wise anyway), and here
he’s both physically unimposing (sporting a sizeable gut and spectacles) and
exhibits that slightly desperate, slightly maudlin facility for humour that has
served him so well in his pairings with Martin McDonagh.
Lanthimos' film is ultimately stronger for its visual absurdity than its content, since he
has tried to string together a series of jottings that leave it less than
coherent. That’s partly why it would have made a better short; the further The Lobster extends itself, the less beguiling
it becomes. It never quite collapses in on itself, but draws attention to its
own thinness, in a way, say, Charlie Kauffman’s existential musings don’t
(mainly because he has no shortage of angsty ruminations to cover). Good but no
Thermidor, then. As for the poster design (the ones below). I wouldn’t go see that movie.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.
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