In the midst of working on “Poor Things” during post-production, Yorgos Lanthimos’s “Kinds of Kindness” delves into the theme of striving for autonomy within a confined world. This film sees a return to the stark visual style found in Lanthimos’s earlier works like “Dogtooth” and “The Lobster.” However, a significant shift lies in the change from Tony McNamara, the writer of “Poor Things” and co-writer of “The Favourite,” to Efthimis Filippou, who previously collaborated with Lanthimos on scripts for “The Killing of a Sacred Deer,” “The Lobster,” “Alps,” and “Dogtooth.”
Fans of Lanthimos’s oeuvre will undoubtedly notice the marked tonal difference between these sets of films. The earlier films were characterized by a certain sadism in the treatment of characters, a cynicism about their capacity for change, and a pervasive nihilism in the world that envelops them, all of which contributed significantly to Lanthimos’s international acclaim. It became apparent during McNamara’s tenure that while these traits are inherent to Lanthimos’s work, it was Filippou who amplified and channeled them more profoundly.
The films associated with McNamara often softened Lanthimos’s edge, expanding his appeal to a broader audience. They shifted the focus of violence from physical acts to emotional ones, adopted period or period-inspired settings, and superficially engaged with the exploration of “women’s agency.” Most notably, these films reduced the use of symbols of degradation in Lanthimos’s visual compositions. Instead of leading his characters through an inevitable process of mortification, the films repurposed abjection as just one of many characterizing tools and greatly diminished its impact. The tooth-smashing scene in “Dogtooth” and the mutilated animals in “The Lobster” were concealed behind a metaphorical curtain, replaced by Queen Anne fainting in public in “The Favourite” and Bella Baxter’s polite interactions with clients as a sex worker in “Poor Things.”
Lanthimos’s inclination towards prioritizing abstract themes over explicit context and detail, his penchant for a casual yet thought-provoking approach to depicting sadistic behavior, his austere and visually striking style, his use of dry and witty humor, and his instrumentalization of actors for setting the tone of his films do not inherently detract from the quality of his work. On the contrary, when carefully combined, these elements have demonstrated compatibility and have mutually amplified each other to create compelling and memorable cinematic experiences.
“The Favourite” is known for its psychologically insightful character details and its use of ribald physical comedy, which adds a satirical quality to the austere visuals. The large empty spaces in the film represent the powerlessness that women feel towards each other but cannot express due to the obvious symbols of power present in their opulent surroundings. However, these issues often intertwine and create cracks in the narrative, allowing for deeper meanings, insights, and pleasure to be lost within the film’s fabric.
In “Kinds of Kindness,” Lanthimos explores a series of interconnected stories with a recurring cast of characters. The first story, “The Death of R.M.F.,” delves into the futile rebellion of a businessman named Robert against his domineering boss, Raymond, leading to a descent into madness and murder. The second story, “R.M.F. Is Flying,” follows a man named Daniel as he grapples with the return of his wife, Liz, after she was lost at sea. Daniel’s struggle to accept her identity culminates in madness and violence. The final story, “R.M.F. Eats a Sandwich,” focuses on Emily, who embarks on a quest to find a Lazarus figure on behalf of a cult, leaving behind her husband and child. Throughout these stories, the silent character R.M.F. appears, although he undergoes subtle variations in each narrative.
Despite the frequent section breaks and repeated credits, which constantly point to Lanthimos’s direction, the filmmaker’s presence feels less conspicuous in this film compared to his previous work. Surprisingly, this lack of control leads to a result that is quite unexpected. Given Lanthimos’s tendency towards suppression, mundane details, and emotional detachment, the film’s lack of focus generates a more blunt and inflexible outcome than his previous works. The abstract elements come across as overly contrived, the cruelty seems more immature and purposeless, and the humor feels uncomfortably superficial.
The film “The Death of R.M.F.” is notably forceful in its lack of specificity. The central message is that Raymond, portrayed by Dafoe, has given his life to Robert, played by Plemons, but in his dictatorial control, he renders it unlivable. Plemons skillfully portrays a character reminiscent of the Coen brothers’ style, showcasing handwringing, temple-sweating, and a sense of being put-upon. However, the segment fails to provide any substantial details about the life that is being fought for. The nature of the job that binds them together is left unspecified, and Robert’s house is depicted as a white womb filled with museum-like artifacts, devoid of any joy in his relationship with his wife, Sarah, played by Chau. Robert himself lacks any discernible personality beyond his consuming relationship with Raymond. While these details may appear to reflect the impact of Raymond’s control on Robert’s life, they are presented merely as a matter of course. This under-characterization is a common feature across each story in the film.
In “R.M.F. Is Flying,” Liz (played by Stone) shows an unwavering commitment to her job, going down with a ship in an unspecified location. Despite her dedication, the specifics of her occupation remain a mystery throughout the film. Meanwhile, her husband Daniel (portrayed by Plemons) is a police officer, but the city he serves is never revealed. The enigmatic “DPSD Police Department” logo on the cars and department headquarters adds to the intrigue.
Additionally, the true intentions of the cult in “R.M.F. Eats a Sandwich,” which Emily (Stone) joins, are left unclear. This ambiguity diminishes the significance of Emily’s decision to leave her husband and child for the cult, as their motives are never fully addressed. The only indication of the prior intimacy between Stone’s character and her estranged husband, Joseph (played by Alwyn), is a single line about a potential promotion, leaving their past relationship largely undefined.
“What office? What job? Lanthimos and Filippou don’t care. The time-worn details of a lived-in space, the specifics of a daily routine, and the unique rhythms of love and friendship – these things have profound impacts on people’s psyches and emotional systems, greatly influencing how they conduct their lives, treat others, and react to certain stimuli. However, Lanthimos and Filippou are so interested in watching what happens to people when you place them in a tough situation and crank up the pressure that the very processes by which people develop their pressure responses fall by the wayside in their storytelling. Every character in Kinds of Kindness is a stock one. The fact that they find themselves in unique situations and have unique reactions to them is rendered meaningless in the narrative.”
The film’s ascetic visual scheme and the transformation of actors into instruments of tone, coupled with the constant undermining of dramatic potential through smug jokes, serve to flatten the movie’s emotional depth and render the characters so subdued that allegorical interpretations become nearly impossible. Director Lanthimos and cinematographer Robbie Ryan employ metonymic shots of characters’ hands and legs during dialogue, often framing them in wide and medium wide shots to isolate them in oppressive negative space. While this technique could have highlighted the stark contrast in their predicaments, other elements within the film prevent such complexity from emerging. The dialogue, for instance, is written in a stiff, clinical tone, with the casual use of “mustn’t” occurring at least four times. Furthermore, the actors are directed to deliver their lines in a flat manner, creating a sense of monotony that engulfs nearly every character, with the exceptions of Dafoe and Chau who manage to infuse their characters with an air of mystery and vitality.
The film would be uninteresting if it only asked us to care about characters that it intentionally disconnects us from. However, its pointless and ultimately cowardly obsession with violence makes it difficult to watch. In “R.M.F. is Flying,” Daniel shoots Jerry (Alwyn) in the hand and licks his blood, and later instructs his wife to cut off her finger to see if it’s really hers. In “The Death of R.M.F.,” Robert runs over R.M.F. twice with his car, killing him. Each of these scenes is intentionally staged, shot, and edited to be as straightforward as possible, using plain framing and minimal cuts. Violence generally serves a purely narrative function in Lanthimos’s films, pushing characters past the point of redemption and into his sights so he can deliver the killing blow.
In “R.M.F. Eats a Sandwich,” the central act of violence is unique. The protagonist is the victim rather than the perpetrator, and the aesthetic approach used to depict her victimization reflects this, shifting from direct to indirect. After succumbing to Joseph’s advances and her own repressed desire to re-establish contact, Emily is drugged and raped by her estranged husband. Rather than portraying the scene explicitly, Lanthimos uses a metonymic approach — a delicate, disembodied shot of Stone’s feet being thrust back and forth. The subsequent scene shows Emily being expelled from the cult after a sweat test deems her impure. The underlying message is clear and grim: Corrupting violence is necessary to advance the plot. Whether it’s the violence inflicted by men or the violence perpetrated against women is irrelevant, as long as Lanthimos and Filippou deliver one final, harsh punchline.
The change in the way the scene is presented reveals the filmmaker’s reluctance to fully engage with the issue of sexual violence. The indirect portrayal of the rape scene indicates that the director may have recognized the difference between sexual violence and other forms of violence, but failed to explore it in depth. Rape is a complex act of violence that has both physical and psychological effects, but the filmmaker avoids delving into its complexity. Instead, he chooses to shy away from addressing the unpleasantness of the subject. The film has the potential to explore important themes, but the filmmaker does not take the time to develop them.
