kinds of kindness review

film by Yorgos Lanthimos (2024)

Call Yorgos Lanthimos’s newest work many things, but one thing you cannot say about this ambiguous film is that its interpretations will be agreed upon. It occupies that nebulous space where concepts, ideas, and interpretations are an ever-evolving, transmutative, open-ended mass. I am confident that in my strenuous attempt to make sense of the film, I am most certainly way off course as my personal approach accompanies a myriad of dashed attempts further to vomit an intellectual point of view upon the internet while aiming for Earth and ending up on Neptune.

Review by Aaron Jones | November 29, 2024

Kinds of Kindness is a salacious anthology of parables that issues a sardonic subtext on authority, obedience, religion, and the human condition. It underscores the symbiotic cycles of abuse that thrive and emanate in these microcosms, more specifically, our everyday lives and the dissolution that inevitably follows—from exclusive cult hobbit holes to our contemporary and domestic domiciles, highlighting the endless pursuits of happiness and validation. The chronicling of how commonly these acts morph into perverse dysfunction reflects upon our sociological spheres. Desperation and eagerness for acceptance represent one massive gradient that are symptomatic hallmarks of the modern world. Frolicking in its dark compendium, it questions how well we really know each other, the limitations of our principles, and our need for belonging.

Presented in a series of 3 shorts with every central cast member assuming a different key role in each sequence, appears an enigmatic interconnected set of character arcs and stories with only one recurring character that never changes, RMF, serving as a visual cue and connective tissue of a cryptic puzzle of exposition. Little time is allotted for internal dialogue or mental notes due to visual language and suggestions that could be easily overlooked in the blink of an eye and which, at least for this viewer, took multiple viewings to decode and get my tuning forks to synchronize with its wavelength. It succeeds in its deliberate and hermetically sealed absurd wellspring of conceptualization, stilted maladjusted personalities whose askew cadence and syntax only further entrench it in what can be recognized as Lanthimo’s shifts either momentarily or more permanently towards the absurd histrionics that he so rigidly imprinted upon his earlier films.

The first sequence features Robert (Plemmons), an average and meek husband whose very existence is willingly under the dominion of his boss, Raymond (Dafoe), both economically and psychologically, with a stalwart dedication. The level of control represents that of an S&M master-slave relationship reaching as far as decisions about what Robert eats, whom he has married, and when he has sex, including their inability to have children orchestrated through nefarious means unbeknownst to his wife. When refusing to kill someone under Raymond’s orders, Robert becomes ensnared between his obedience and his principles, setting a course of actions that serve as endorsements for humanity’s pursuit of happiness as reflections of our innate desire for acceptance. Even when those pursuits find us abandoning our principles and the custodial power of social consciousness in exchange for the principles and doctrines of others, no matter how morally conflicting they may be within our value system, in return for acceptance and belonging.

This emphasizes our relationship with obedience to authority and how often those obedient and loyal are so frequently manipulated into believing those traits garner them unconditional love, unaware that the love is a conditional perversion of control masquerading as kindness. Such social currencies are worthless in the pursuit of love and acceptance. Yet, those caught within the confines suffer from a distorted sense of security synonymous with following rules to dilute the anxiety of a life without purpose or meaning that group affiliation, no matter its distortions, subsequently lifts even at the detriment of their health and safety.

The second vignette is about Daniel (Plemmons), a police officer whose marine biologist wife, Liz (Stone), is found and returns home after having been missing while on an expedition at sea. Liz’s return instills a paranoid anxiety within Daniel, conjuring fears of doppelgangers and impostors posing as his wife. While the film may suggest these are very real paranoias through Liz’s peculiar behaviors, they traverse a path that challenges us to look at our own pathologies and irrational fears. Daniel’s persecutory delusions spiderweb out of control after Liz tells him of a dream she had in which the world is turned upside down with animals and humans switching places, concluding in a glorious black-and-white montage and another symbolic example of our obedience to a master. Summoning a primal fear within Daniel, he is pushed further into paranoia, which begins to put a strain on his relationships, including with Liz.

Under the threat of physical abuse, Liz obeys his every whim, no matter how violent or self-injurious, while blaming herself and falling into the patterns of battered wife syndrome, illustrating our desire to live up to the impossible burden and manipulative expectations of others. Employing tests of loyalty and faith through trial by fire upon Liz, she succumbs to the ever-increasing demands of her husband, concluding in her death as the real Liz walks through the door unharmed. This suggests what we see on screen is either the reality of the situation or Daniel’s delusion physically manifesting itself.

The final act focuses on Emily (Stone) and Andrew (Plemmons), members of a reclusive and isolated sex cult who are looking for the so-called chosen one who can supposedly resurrect the dead—indebted to this task by their svengali leaders Omi (Defoe) and Aka (Hong Chau). The cult leaders’ obsession with their grandiose delusions of purity sermonizes that any of their members who have sexual relations with anyone other than Omi and Aka will be deemed impure and tainted by the toxicity of the outside world, which they test by licking the sweat off the bodies of those eager to prove themselves worthy by a ritual of the cult’s making. Their only source of hydration comes from the tears of Omi and Aka, a tool to implement further control and fear of straying too far from its source of origin. In their search for the divine hand, Emily is raped by her ex-husband as she periodically brushes with her old life in an attempt to see her daughter and is therefore expelled from the cult after failing the purity test. In hopes of redemption, Emily finds a meal ticket brought to her through a dream in which she is rescued from the bottom of a pool by a pair of twin synchronized swimmers (Margaret Qualley). One of the twins unexpectedly approaches Emily in a restaurant in real life, claiming her twin sister is the chosen one with the power of reanimation, instilling Emily with a purpose for reacceptance into the cult if she can provide Omi and Aka proof of this claim.

In Greek mythology, twins can be symbols of duality. While Emily pursues the exclusivity of her cult, she is still drawn to the past of her old life, possibly suggesting the internal conflict or duality of those influenced by the throes of capitulation from a cult stuck in limbo, revealing a mythic present where those in authority claim absolute standards of virtue and purity, upon which all others are measured. The issuing of unattainable mythical standards is weaponized into tools of control and manipulation and often targets women who, even in cases of rape or assault, are punished for the actions of their aggressors. Commenting on religion’s historical stance towards women, the subservient roles they are prescribed, and those victimized by what society deems as superior are acts of impurity brought on by their own infernal sins.

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While set to the theme of religion and pseudo-spirituality, Kinds of Kindness simultaneously comments on our own flawed individual psychology, issuing its cynical discourse to lampoon our neurosis and lack of rational thought. Lanthimos uses mythology repeatedly to examine contemporary society and sociology that may suggest something larger at play here, thematically pointing toward the Holy Trinity, otherwise known as the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The film’s three sequences are an apparent reference to the number three, a sacred number in reference to the aforementioned Holy Trinity. Defoe represents the (father) of the trinity who makes us do horrible things such as killing one’s son, symbolized by RMF’s murder. In exchange for the sacrifice of murder comes the reward of Father’s satisfaction as the episode concludes with Plemmons nestled between Qualley and Defoe. The theme of sacrifice as a test of loyalty is also implied during the second act through Stone, who represents the Son and the second coming, returning to her husband in her true form after she has made the ultimate sacrifice of her own life for the happiness of another as a resurrection from the dead. Lastly, God (Holy Ghost) is everywhere, ever watchful and vindictive, and his divinity is shared through collective rapture.

Lanthimos ushers in provocative comparisons discerning everyday life and religiosity, carefully woven religious undertones, framework, and themes highlighting our strict obedience to rules and our internal agreements with faith. A survey of tests of faith to prove unwavering devotion or loyalty to the toxic relationships that arise because of them. The need for exclusivity results from our narcissistic tendencies to acquire secret knowledge or confirmation of our uniqueness as individuals. It is a testament to our lives going off the rails when we abandon our faith or the guidance of divine influence, furthering the importance of a higher power beyond our understanding. The only place true happiness can be acquired is through blind faith.

Kinds of Kindness is a deliberately absurd, choreographed world, and a reflection of the insanities we as a society seem to entrench ourselves further as the costs of those actions become increasingly more severe. It’s cold psychological exteriors and desperate pleadings imbued with the warmth of sun-kissed visuals, affluence, and skewed vision of conventional reality provide a brilliantly rendered vision. Its complex characters and humor thrive in the darkness of our humanity and unearth our magnetic desires for fascism. While it may not resonate with the majority of its viewers, its richly layered machinations may feel like conceptual abandonment, but this is not a film about payoffs or thrills; it is a mirror that we are simply being asked to look into.

Author

Reviewed and published by Aaron Jones. Based in California, he developed a passion for film from a young age and has since viewed over 10,000 films. Curently serves as a film critic at CinemaWaves, he has contributed to other publications as well. Feel free to follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd.

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