The Lobster: An Unconventional Love Story

    If you can get over whatever weirdness is behind the core concept of a Yorgos Lanthimos film you’re pretty much good to go. Watching becomes easy once you wrap your head around say, three teenagers raised in complete isolation, people impersonating the dead for money or, in the case of his latest work, a hotel for single people who get turned into animals if they fail. The ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of this bleak future are secondary to experiencing the effects of a culture which approaches something so natural with such rigidity.

    The rigidity though is a big part of The Lobster’s humour. Inducting our protagonist David-Colin Farrell, still sporting his Horrible Bosses beer gut-into an environment that can’t accommodate his sexual curiosity or even his unique shoe size (44.5). For the first half of the film this is the prevailing theme; society’s ingrained tunnel vision around what does and doesn’t work as a relationship. Long term couples like the Hotel Manager-a comically stilted Olivia Coleman- and her partner are a picture of marital misery. Even couples outside of the hotel seemed to be based on arbitrary commonalities like short-sightedness and math skills. It’s all so chilly and formal that David’s early attempts at coupling are painfully awkward. In the hands of a less skilled director such moments would be a slog to watch but Lanthimos has enough of a grasp of timing to make them comedy gold.

    It’s not all half-baked attempts at flirting though. The first act is broken up with several trips out to the woods to capture the ‘loners’, people unable to pair who have fled the prospect of being transformed. This is a chance for Lanthimos to stretch his artistry a little with long, slow-motion sequences of the hunt. More importantly though it’s a reminder of the fate that awaits David the longer it takes for him to find a partner. A nice, consistent reminder of his remaining days at the hotel.

   The Loners become much more important in the second half of the film when it all goes south for David. In fleeing the hospital and joining the local resistance movement they essentially turn The Lobster into a sort of European Neo-realist version of Equilibrium. Of course Lanthimos is smart enough to not completely vilify the Loners. While they do offer more freedoms they also forbid pairing, require members to dig their own graves and flirting is harshly punished. It’s an apt message, that no society’s version of relationships is applicable to everyone but it didn’t really need this much time to explain. While the humour and characterisation is as sharp as ever it can’t help but drag the film’s momentum to a halt.

   The real shame of this is that it doesn’t allow time to build the intimacy between David and his eventual love interest; Rachel Weisz, simply credited as Short-Sighted Woman. Their pairing is deliberately superficial and has some tender moments but it would have been nice if their relationship had been based on mutual interests and chemistry (y’know, like in the real world). To their credit though both Farrell and Weisz manage to work through the script’s knowingly decorous dialogue while communicating a strong emotional bond.

   On that note the film boasts an amazing supporting cast with great comic timing. Not just Coleman and Weisz but Ben Whishaw and John C. Reilly as hotel residents; the two are equal parts frustrated and pathetic without overplaying it. Ashley Jensen feels a little ‘on-type’ as ‘Biscuit Woman’ a resident who’s a touch too desperate in her attempt to find a match. The real surprise though is Lea Sedoux as the Loner Leader, a capable and somewhat heartless figure who takes pleasure in undermining the hotel’s hollow principles. 

   The Lobster is utterly unlike any other film this year, save perhaps Peter Strickland’s equally oddball The Duke of Burgandy. A funny and thoughtful look into society’s strict categorisation of human relationships that falls just short of being truly great by its severe pacing problems.

The Lady lacks a little Iron

                As a progressive it’s never going to be easy for me to present an objective view of a Margaret Thatcher biopic, especially one selling itself to female audience as Sex in the City with politics. Mercifully that’s not the case as the insipid scenes, prominent in trailers, of The Iron Lady at a hair salon or defiantly defending her peals are kept to a minimum. Instead the film is more of a tragic retrospect of Thatcher’s tenure from the perspective of her as a dithering old woman. Filthy, stinking liberals like myself will struggle to engender sympathy for and increasingly demented woman struggling to come to terms with the modern world with only the comfort of a posh house, armed guards and nicest man on the planet Jim Broadbent. However as a framing device for the telling of Thatcher’s life it’s tired, slow and almost jarring in contrast. The Iron Lady feels like two separate movies, a melancholy human drama about a ghoulish old woman desperately clinging on to her public persona and an empowering rose-tinted look at the first female Prime Minister.

                In fairness to the film though the rose tint never goes as far as to paint Thatcher in a purely positive light, Lord knows it lacks the conviction for that. Instead the film blurs both sides of the argument showing Thatcher passionately arguing against self-interested unions as they strike for reasons that are never made clear and harassed by protestors without ever explaining their motives. Likewise Thatcher’s fall from grace is condensed down to a single instance of scolding an underling for failing to put together a proper timetable. Yes, I don’t approve of the way some employers treat their staff but I also think that my government should be capable of producing a fucking document without typos.

                Really though I shouldn’t be surprised at mollycoddling from this kind of self-important Oscar Bait. Last year I sat through The Help a film which condensed the defiance, passion and outrage at the social injustices against African Americans into the story of a pretty white girl trying to get a fancy newspaper job. But as with The Help the subject matter of The Iron Lady deserves serious analysis or at least better analysis than this film dares to offer. If Maggie Thatcher was right to close the coal mines then show us why, it actually isn’t that hard. In 1984 the National Coal Board was costing the UK taxpayer £1 Billion in tax subsidiaries, nowadays liberals are outraged that banks and oil industries are offered these kinds of tax breaks. While most of us like to paint Maggie as the villain it is possible to look at the facts and frame her in a positive light.

                Or better yet show both sides of the story, the reasons why Thatcher made the decisions she made and why the opposition fought so hard against them. Show us the lives lost in the Falklands War, soldiers British and Argentinian bloodied and demoralized. Do not show us a montage of Meryl Streep sat at her desk writing condolences. Show us the people and communities impoverished by the closures of mines, the sad march of union workers back to their financially woeful families.  A woman who makes random decisions resulting in a vague amount of backlash is not interesting. A woman who agonises over difficult choices regarding the lives and well-beings of millions and then enduring the consequences is moving, powerful stuff.

                But alas, this is all to miss the point, The Iron Lady is the story of a person not a politician and we the audience can go fuck ourselves if we want otherwise. As such a story it’s certainly well made, the flashbacks draw you into a believable version of Britain through the Eighties, Seventies and even the Forties and Fifties. While an Oscar-winning performance is par for the course for Streep the real revelation is Alexandra Roach as the younger Margaret. Margaret Roberts has all the strength and conviction required for movie politics but also the vulnerability of a young woman. Roach shifts seamlessly from a dutiful daughter to a proud Tory and finally a devoted mother but as she grows the traits of all three incarnations still appear. Crucially though it isn’t until she steps into Parliament that she becomes becomes Thatcher the woman, and while Streep is as powerful as ever the performance carries nothing from Roach’s commendable start. It has to be said also that Thatcher the invalid is far more hit and miss, at times quaint, funny and very tragic but otherwise downright agonizing, an elderly relative you can’t wait to get away from.