The Lobster (15.)
Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos.
Starring Colin Farrell, Rachel Weisz, Léa Seydoux, Olivia Colman, John C. Reilly and Ben Whishaw. 118 mins
In Lobster world all couples live in a city and all singles live in the woods. If you become single you are sent to a hotel where you have 45 days to find a partner. If you don't you are turned into an animal. But you do get to choose the animal.
Why? I don't bloody know, do I? It's an allegory, innit? Or maybe it's surreal black comedy. Or knockabout absurdism. There is certainly a thread of nihilist deadpan running through it. You may laugh at certain points, though I suspect a tone of sustained frozen hysterics might be more appropriate.
Greek director Lanthimos has form when it comes to the bleakly oblique. His trademark is to dream up the weirdest, most out there scenario possible and then tell it with a straight face. He made his name with the much admired Dogtooth, kept it with the less seen Alps, and has now been given the chance to do his thing in English with a prestigious international cast. He's certainly an original and skilful film maker. The Irish location are beautifully filmed (as long as you have a taste for grey and overcast) and he frames the images audaciously.
Nevertheless, I found The Lobster annoying and kind of smugly hateful, but might yet have been won round if it hadn't been for two directorial choices. Firstly he has all the cast deliver their lines in the flattest way possible so they are effectively acting with one arm tied behind their back. It's like the school play in a very progressive, experimental school.
He also has this incredibly irritating musical choice which is to interject a harsh burst of classical music at a painful loud volume. Ugh, that music, so self righteous arty. It's the kind of distancing trick Godard would use at his most obstreperous and every time you hear it, it makes you not want to give the film the benefit of the doubt; to choose to be irritated rather than intrigued by its ambiguities.
I don't mind the narrative cold shoulder, but I do object to the aloof brush off. The Lobster comes off as a bit too pleased with itself. It is like certain Soho members clubs that would die rather than allow the hoi polloi in, and are as a result something close to hell.
The Lobster (15.)
Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos.
Starring Colin Farrell, Rachel Weisz, Léa Seydoux, Olivia Colman, John C. Reilly and Ben Whishaw. 118 mins
In Lobster world all couples live in a city and all singles live in the woods. If you become single you are sent to a hotel where you have 45 days to find a partner. If you don't you are turned into an animal. But you do get to choose the animal.
Why? I don't bloody know, do I? It's an allegory, innit? Or maybe it's surreal black comedy. Or knockabout absurdism. There is certainly a thread of nihilist deadpan running through it. You may laugh at certain points, though I suspect a tone of sustained frozen hysterics might be more appropriate.
Greek director Lanthimos has form when it comes to the bleakly oblique. His trademark is to dream up the weirdest, most out there scenario possible and then tell it with a straight face. He made his name with the much admired Dogtooth, kept it with the less seen Alps, and has now been given the chance to do his thing in English with a prestigious international cast. He's certainly an original and skilful film maker. The Irish location are beautifully filmed (as long as you have a taste for grey and overcast) and he frames the images audaciously.
Nevertheless, I found The Lobster annoying and kind of smugly hateful, but might yet have been won round if it hadn't been for two directorial choices. Firstly he has all the cast deliver their lines in the flattest way possible so they are effectively acting with one arm tied behind their back. It's like the school play in a very progressive, experimental school.
He also has this incredibly irritating musical choice which is to interject a harsh burst of classical music at a painful loud volume. Ugh, that music, so self righteous arty. It's the kind of distancing trick Godard would use at his most obstreperous and every time you hear it, it makes you not want to give the film the benefit of the doubt; to choose to be irritated rather than intrigued by its ambiguities.
I don't mind the narrative cold shoulder, but I do object to the aloof brush off. The Lobster comes off as a bit too pleased with itself. It is like certain Soho members clubs that would die rather than allow the hoi polloi in, and are as a result something close to hell.
