‘KINDS OF KINDNESS’ A Freaky Foray Into Yorgos’ Hilarious Depravity

A trio of demented fables make up Yorgos Lanthimos’ most recent film, Kinds of Kindness. An anthological miasma of the bizarre and misanthropic, Yorgos returns to his biting roots as a somewhat impenetrable provocateur, escaping easy explanation at every turn, armed with a razor sharp sense of satirical humor. Featuring an outstanding ensemble cast that cycles through various characters throughout the film’s distinct – and mostly unconnected – three short, Kinds of Kindess filters the filmmaker’s most esoteric curiosities through an almost Black Mirror filter, making for a collection of works that are strong and striking on there own merit but add up to something entirely captivating when taken as a whole.

No consumer of Yorgos would accuse the director of being sentimental or mass appeal but the director’s last few films have made sizable inroads with industry insiders, critics, and audiences alike, including prodigious awards circuit runs for both The Favourite and Poor Things. Kinds of Kindness almost feels like a response to Yorgos’ budding popularity, a return to his freakiest, most shocking, anti-populist self. Kinds of Kindness is at once all provocation, made with a sneering indifference towards awards bodies’ appetites, and yet brilliantly expands upon the filmmaker’s more caustic and esoteric side of his oeuvre, films like Dogtooth, The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer. These films establish themselves within their own schema, rarely pausing to interrogate the why behind such established realities as a matchmaking retreat where romantic failures are turned into animals or a bewitched teenager with the powers to undo a surgeon’s family. It’s in the not knowing that Yorgos mines intrigue and explores our darkest impulses for belonging and love. The triptych unfolds across three stories and nearly three hours, each segment running around the same length. The first, “The Death of R.M.F,” is a tale of a man whose life is controlled entirely by his wealthy boss; what he eats, how he dresses, who he marries, if he has children, when he has sex, what alcohol he drinks, what books he reads. Every single detail is selected with cold indifference but utter conviction. When he’s asked to get into a vehicular collision with another man (who has also been paid off by the same boss with a god complex), he refuses, not wanting blood on his hands. Soon his life of careful curation unravels and he finds himself forced to make decisions for the first time. The chapter effectively sets the scene, bringing a sinister and darkly comic sensibility and a cold detachment to this saga of control. Yorgos’ universes often exist parallel to ours, adhering to their own internal sense of dream logic and warped moral codes and this first chapter firmly establishes the film’s commitment to exploring how acceptance and love are rooted in domination and control.

The next story, “R.M.F. is Flying,” continues with this thread. A police officer is spiraling at work as his marine biologist wife has been lost at sea for an indeterminate amount of time. When she is miraculously recovered and returned home, he senses that something is deeply off about her. She may appear the same but she is not his wife. As he continues to test her in more extreme ways, the ground beneath the couple shatters. This absolutely frigid tale of marital devolution is stealthily the funniest of the bunch with a moment shared with friends watching an inappropriate videotape and the “imposter” wife’s explanation of what was actually occurring on the island making for hilarious out-of-nowhere details that only Yorgos would dare put to film.

The final segment “R.M.F. Eats a Sandwich” tells the story of a cult on the hunt for the living incarnation of their deity. This involves a pair of cultists traveling the country, examining female twins for physical specifications and particular familial histories (one of the twins must be deceased.) They also must be able to raise the dead. This section is perhaps the most blatantly about the brittle tie between a need for love and acceptance and the depths that we as humans are willing to go for such. There’s a certain nastiness that pervades this story, including a stomach-churning instance of sexual assault, but it’s not without its flashes of acidic black humor. The fact that the second and third chapters of Kinds of Kindness is punctuated by monochromatic footage of dogs driving cars, taking showers, and otherwise anthropomorphizing speaks to Yorgos’ utterly absurdist intentions.

The cast throughout is simply extraordinary. With a supporting ensemble that includes Mamoudou Athie, Joe Alwyn, Hong Chau, Margaret Qualley, and Willem Dafoe, every performer appears to make the most interesting choice with each and every line. Nothing is left to convention when it comes to this cast. Leading all three shorts is the inspired pairing of Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons, both of whom showcase why they are amongst the most respected working actors in Hollywood today. Stone is simply shattering across the three films, offering a collage of why she’s quickly become the most interesting actor working today. Plemons continues his ascension as it-guy, filling the shoes of an insecure pleaser, an unraveling peace officer, and a clinical cultist with equal aplomb. He’s astounding across all three mini-features, the individual performances dwarfed only by the totality of his work across the lot.

CONCLUSION: A decidedly WTF venture for Hollywood’s most assured provocateur, Kinds of Kindness is a malevolent triptych that asks questions about the relationship between the human need for community and love and their willingness to be controlled and dominated. The entire cast is phenomenal but Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons are truly at the top of their games. This is unlikely to realize mass appeal but those on Yorgos’ acerbic wavelength will find this uncanny anthology a darkly sumptuous delight.