And the animals were people – Kinds of Kindness and Dendy’s Return to 35mm
By Peter Searles
The 1st of August screening of Kinds of Kindness at Dendy Canberra was more than just a chance to see an anticipated new film. It was an evening of significance for Dendy and for cinema-going in Canberra generally. That’s because it was a screening of a 35mm film. In this thoroughly digital age, the National Film and Sound Archive (NFSA) has long been a Canberran’s only option for seeing films the old-fashioned way: via the projection of light through celluloid. But that’s all changing. As a representative of the Minister for the Arts, Culture and the Creative Economy informed us before the film, Dendy Canberra has two recently restored projectors that they intend to put to more frequent use. This screening was the first to utilise these machines since they were decommissioned more than a decade ago.
Just to make sure the digitally-spoiled audience understood what we were about to experience (or at least that we were paying attention), we were also addressed by Henry Fitzgerald, a long-standing member of the ANU film group and analogue film enthusiast. Henry believes that 35mm film is significant for two fundamental reasons. Firstly, the use of older technology puts us in touch with our past. The other reason has to do with the character of the image. Variations between the silver nitrate crystals that make up each frame of the film, give the film it’s ‘grain’, or as Henry more lovingly phrased it: they cause the image to ‘glow’.
Taking the time to broaden my attention throughout the film, I managed to take in some of this glow and noticed with a tinge of nostalgia the oval shaped ‘cigarette burns’ that appeared in the upper right corner of the screen, indicating the end of each reel. These moments became an opportunity for respite from the almost universally unpleasant emotions the film itself stirred in me.
Kinds of Kindness is a black comedy composed of three stand-alone stories: “The Death of R.M.F”., “R.M.F. is Flying” and “R.M.F. Eats a Sandwich”. The character of R.M.F., played by Yorgos Stefanakos, becomes a unifying thread between the three stories by virtue of being the only character that appears in all three parts. Although the remainder of the cast remains the same throughout the film, they are shuffled into new roles for each new section. For me, what’s less confusing and more important is the thematic link between the three stories, which boils down to the idea of control. In the off-kilter world of the film, humans are seen to inhabit roles within pathological games of power that play out in their workplaces, their domestic arrangements and in their quests for discovering meaning and purpose in their lives. Whether they are imposing or submitting to control, these characters remain for the most part willing participants. So we quickly understand that these psychotic games are, in the world of the film, completely normal and correct.
But more than just unifying these three unusual tales, the overarching theme positions Kinds of Kindness right alongside other films in the oeuvre of writer/director Yorgos Lanthimos – and that is because the idea of control is one that has been a feature of just about every film in his more than 15-year career. I’ve heard a lot of things said about Kinds of Kindness. One is that it signifies a return to Lanthimos’ early style. I think in saying this, people are referring to the provocative nature of the film, which was notably less a feature of his two most recent films The Favourite and Poor Things. But really, you don’t have to reach too far back into the past (only to 2017’s The Killing of a Sacred Deer) to find similar levels of discomfort and distaste. The heightened unpleasantness of this and those earlier films, seems to be the outcome of Lanthimos’ frequent collaborations with co-writer Efthymis Filippou.
It’s true though, this is a provocative film. It’s also likely to be a divisive one. In Dendy’s screening, the nostalgic glow of 35mm wasn’t enough to prevent several walkouts. After the film, I overheard declarations of hatred from some audience members. But I also noticed others leaving the theatre elated, joyously recounting their favourite moments to one another. I came down somewhere in the middle. I was fully entertained throughout the film, and while I left with a feeling of disgust that I couldn’t shake for some time, I’m more inclined to applaud the film for having that kind of power and to enjoy figuring out – how did they do it?
Considering this question, I was reminded of a conversation I recently had with a friend about controversy. I asked my friend what sensitive areas are left for those who aim to be controversial in this modern age where we are routinely exposed to so much that’s horrid and unspeakable. The subject matter of this film does a decent job at putting together a list of the last few things that might still get a rise out of people: there’s domestic violence, coercive control, sexual abuse, self-harm, violence against animals, cannibalism, and so on. It seems clear thatKinds of Kindnessis trying to push buttons. But in that conversation with my friend, her response was not to bother with such a list. Instead, she jumped straight to the conclusion that the only thing remaining is to “go the other way.” That is, an honest commitment to wholesomeness is the only transgressive act left open to us.
Thinking along the same lines as my friend, I was better able to pin down how this film succeeded in making me feel so thoroughly awful. Because I found that I could handle the overt nastiness and violence, while a couple of scenes depicting a group of friends making polite conversation around the dinner table made me feel physically sick. Everywhere you look in this film are people displaying surface level civility with nothing underneath. Adding to that, there is persistent emphasis on trivial things while the things we might consider truly important (human connection, genuine emotion, compassion, mercy, kindness) are entirely absent.
Around the middle of the film there is a scene in which one of Emma Stone’s characters is recounting a dream she had. In the dream there was a reversal of roles between humans and animals and everyone had to get used to the new way of things. She shares this moment of personal truth while (for the first and only time in the film) the unnerving, off-key, twinkly piano score is replaced by one that’s stirring and melodic. Everything is coded to let the audience know this moment is significant, that we are about to be delivered some central metaphor on which to hang the rest of the film. But at the very moment that a more conventional film would lean into the emotion and drive home the point, the dialogue suddenly becomes so ridiculous that we can no longer take it seriously. Everything comes crashing down on our heads. We are yanked out of the moment, denied the emotional catharsis and thrust back into the nihilistic world of the film. We are the last to realise the film is making us (the pathetic, emotionally earnest cinemagoing audience) the butt of the joke. We laugh anyway.
But it’s too simplistic to put all the depravity we witness in the film down to an idea of humans being mere animals. Because the humans in this film are not like animals, they don’t live up to the standard of any being carrying the spark of consciousness and capacity for love inside them. They are hollowed-out monstrosities.
Another thing I’ve heard said about this film is that provocativeness is all there is to it. For me, decoding the general icky mood of the film to uncover something like social commentary became the point of watching it. If that doesn’t sound like your thing, there’s nothing else I can really offer as a reason to see it, besides the fact that it is actually pretty funny.
‘Celluloid Dreams’, Dendy’s series of 35mm screenings continues with several other films in 2024:
· Wild at Heart, 08Aug24
· The City of Lost Children, 05Sep24
· Gladiator, 03Oct24
· Tampopo, 31Oct24
· Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 28Nov24
· Chopper, 19Dec24