Mr. K: Searching for Meaning
by Rohan Connolly
Walking into the cinema, I was looking forward to Mr. K. Walking out 90 minutes later, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
Tallulah H. Schwab’s Mr. K tells the story of a travelling magician as he checks into a mysterious hotel and must later find his way out while encountering a strange cast of characters along the way. The film can be described as Kafkaesque and one wouldn’t be wrong in saying such things. The adventure that the magician—Mr. K (Crispin Glover)—goes on truly is an homage to the writings of Franz Kafka with its nightmarish qualities, surreal characters, and overall disorienting setting. Along with Kafka, the overall style of the film is reminiscent of Coraline (2009), Guillermo Del Toro and his projects, and Moulin Rouge! (2001) which Mr. K captures very strongly. The hotel is eerie and every introduction of a new character is both exciting and scary.
The set of the hotel is perfectly crafted, it evokes a feeling of being lost in time with the film also being somewhat secretive about what time period it takes place in. There is an immediate sense of discomfort that comes along with its otherworldliness. The paint is chipping off the walls, there are employees hiding under Mr. K’s bed, the lights flicker and the building almost feels alive. The production design is immaculate as the hotel becomes a constantly evolving character in the film—each room has its own personality and the building slowly falls into decay as the film goes on. No shot feels the same with the way the set around them is ever changing.
The residents of the hotel add another eldritch element to the film. Mr. K first meets Sara (Dearbhla Molloy) and Ruth (Fionnula Flannagan) when they open their door to him as he flees a French Bohemian-styled marching band that makes their way through the corridors of the hotel. The two women do not share his wariness for their situation and tell him they barely remember the last time they left the hotel. He also meets Anton (Jan Gunnar Røise), a chef in the kitchens who hopes to one day work his way up from separating egg whites from their yolks, to whisking—a position held in very high regard. He spends time amongst the aristocratic guests on the higher levels of the hotel and with the working class employees, who bunk together all in one room every night and trade clothes every morning.
There are so many interesting pieces in this film, which is what makes it much harder to say that the final 15 minutes of the film felt like a rushed, half-baked disappointment. It left nearly all questions unanswered and so many themes unexplored. Mr. K starts conversations about labour, community, capitalism and what it means to live but never finishes them. I walked away not knowing what it means to say about anything it touches on, and leaves its audience frustrated for giving it so much of our time.
In the end, it is not the disappointing ending of Mr. K that leaves me frustrated, but everything else. The film had so much potential to be amazing with interesting characters, strong performances, beautiful visuals and an engaging premise, and with everything in me I wanted to enjoy it. I was enjoying it, only to be left wanting so much more with no means of getting it.
