I'm friends with the Lobster that's under my bed/get along with the voices inside of my head

Rating: 8/10 (10 October 2015)

If there was such a genre as the (un)romantic comedy, Yorgos Lanthimos' The Lobster would be a prime example. Black as pitch, yet crackling with satire and quotable one-liners to spare, it's an unusual viewing experience to take in a film so enjoyable yet deceptively, unrelentingly bleak.
The cleverly absurd premise is exceptionally funny, and even if it's somewhat disappointingly played in the subtle side (no major metamorphoses here, but keep your eyes peeled for stray creatures wandering through the background), it still leads to a crackling critique of societal coding singlehood as despicable, the expectations of heteronormativity, ideal pairings and compatibility in the 'tick box' pickiness of the post-online dating world, and, ultimately, how everyone's first true love is their own needs and desires far beyond anyone else's. Residents of this least sexy 'love shack' in cinematic history are forced to publicly declare their love in an eerie awards ceremony style presentation, and children are thrown into the mix as a means of mediating inevitable domestic disputes. Like I said: for a comedy purportedly about romantic union, don't expect redemptive romance at play here. That would ruin the fun.
But hey – it's not like residents have no autonomy! If finding 'the one' under threat of being transmogrified into an animal isn't one's jam, there's always the alternative of escaping into the woods to join another grimly restrictive cult of asexual outlaws who are hunted by hotel inhabitants on a daily basis, and punish any hint of budding romance with grisly mutilation. There is no nonconformity - it is simply a matter of which horribly restrictive society and lifestyle is the best fit (there's a metaphor there as well...). No wonder all inhabitants of Lanthimos' world appear depressed and only capable of blunt literalism, but there are troves of chuckles, if not belly laughs, to be found amidst their melancholy perennial deadpan.
It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye, though, but hardly a surprise that Lathimos' gloomy fairy tale would only buy into a happy ending kicking and screaming. Nonetheless, it's a bit of a shame that the film – already overlong through liberally leisurely pacing - drags in the second act, losing the satirical sparkle of its introduction as the film pulls the rug out from whatever embers of hope that were fanned. There are some real flinches in store too, as Lanthimos plays the gruesome card at full force (don't be surprised to find yourself avoiding steak knives for the rest of the day after). Thankfully, the mournfully bouncy soundtrack of classical compositions is spot-on, while Thimios Bakatakis' dolefully sterile cinematography perfectly captures the cheekily melancholy feel of the film as a whole.
As such, it's left to the cast to find ripples of humanity in a script largely painting them as ideological chess pieces. In a perfect inversion of his pouty histrionics from In Bruges, Colin Farrell is exceptionally funny, his note-perfect deadpan and comedic timing conveying a surprising wealth of character and emotion through his Eeyore-like slump and moustache. Rachel Weisz is equally impressive, carefully avoiding (un)manic pixie dream girl stereotypes and stealing many of the laughs through her impressively crafted fiery personality carefully buttoned down, yet expressed through bursts of emphatically eccentric voice-over journal entries. Finally, the odd but fantastic comedic tag team of Ben Whishaw and John C. Reilly are reliably hilarious throughout, so much so that their absence in the second half of the film is largely what renders it so comparatively sluggish.
Like many black comedies that ply for laughs in such awkward or morbid territory, The Lobster won't be to everyone's tastes. However, for those in tune with Lanthimos' unconventionally morose sensibilities, this blackest and bleakest of comedies could well provide a gourmet repast that just hits the spot.
(now, what animal do I deserve to be transformed into for that despicable metaphor? Is it too late to cast my vote for swordfish – the only sea creature with its own built-in wea-pun?
I'll see myself out)
-8/10