The Lobster

In Yorgos Lathminos’ first English language film there is the expected softening, more audience-friendly approach but fans of Dogtooth and Alps can relax: The Lobster might be funnier and warmer but it is as equally as warped.

Despite the Greek writer-director’s claims this is not a social satire it’s hard to ignore The Lobster’s comment on the obsession with and the pressure of finding love, that we’ll never be happy until we find The One. Movies, books, music, history all perpetuate this myth, brainwashing us into thinking life is incomplete unless there is someone to share it with; the eye always finds ‘relationship status’ on Facebook. Yorgos Lathminos opines that this is preposterous. In stripping of love of its mystique he finds this: love isn’t an admiration of a partner’s qualities but in the physical and psychological shortcomings we might share, that it isn’t some intangible emotion but the result of a series of cold, conscious decisions based on insecurity and a fear of loneliness. And the panic of being turned into a lobster, of course

David’s (Farrell) wife has just left him, which means he is forced to book into a hotel (the film was largely shot in Co. Kerry) run by Olivia Colman where residents must find love within forty-five days or they will be turned into an animal (of one’s choosing) before being set free. There are strict rules: no masturbation, guests must be brought to just shy of orgasm every morning, and there is no smoking: “That way you won’t run out of breath during the hunt and it won’t stink when you kiss,” David is warned.

The hunt? Oh yes - there is a possibility of extending one’s stay by stalking and shooting The Loners, a small group of devout celibates (headed up by Léa Seydoux and Michael Smiley) hiding in the nearby woods. It’s into this forest that David escapes when his manipulation of romance with the most heartless of residents (a wonderful Angeliki Papoulia) is rumbled…

It’s here that The Lobster loses a smidgen of its magic and surprise – the confined action of the hotel had its own universe but when proceedings move into the woodland and town (and to Blanch shopping centre!) the bubble is burst somewhat. It’s here though that Lathminos explores the possibility that he might be wrong - love could be a genuine emotion… but that’s depending on your interpretation of the last scene.

There are nods to other science fiction that float in (a touch of Logan’s Run, a hint of The Island) but Lathminos bends them to his own unique vision – apart from Charlie Kaufman, no one is writing anything this strange right now. The director’s cold, unremarkable visuals are again in evidence, which matches the deliberately stilted, matter-of-fact dialogue and the emotionally stunted performances. A terrific Farrell, after his frenzied display in Miss Julie, revels in this unhurried regimentation. Looking like a Rupert Pupkin sad sack, his childlike turn and deadpan understatement is a delight. He’s not alone with Colman, Reilly, Whishaw and Weisz working off the same page.

Very dark, very funny.