Written by Kate McHargueI have seen this movie twice and both times I left the theater astounded and horrified. The first time, I was with my friend and longtime roommate and both of us were very much single. The second time, I was on a second date with a handsome thirty something whom I liked enough to go on a third date with, but not a fourth. I include these details only because it is important to understand that my relationship to my fellow movie goer and therefore my mindset as an audience member was drastically different for each viewing, and by the time the credits rolled I had arrived at the same conclusion both times. The Lobster is a horrible film to see if you are single, casually dating, or in a committed relationship and yet it is absolutely brilliant. Set in what is presumed to be a dystopic not so distant future, the film reads more as a macabre satire of our present and it is in this aspect that the film finds its brutal genius. In the world of The Lobster, it is illegal to be alone. The film opens with our protagonist (Collin Farrell) being left by his wife of thirteen years and immediately checking into a hotel which has the sole purpose of finding loners new mates. Failure to find a partner condemns an individual to be turned into the animal of their choice, presumably so that they will have another chance at love as a different species. Upon first examination, the concept seems whimsical and, at most, a parody of modern dating sites. (The metaphor was not lost on me, considering the second viewing date was facilitated by one such site). It isn’t until the scenes depicting hunting of loners hiding out in the woods, torture as punishment for masturbation, attempted and botched suicide, or dog murder (I wish I were joking), that the audience begins to realize that this film is not a love story. You’ll have to see the film yourself to fully comprehend the level of discomfort it puts you through. Like the love child of Wes Anderson and Stanley Kubrick, the film combines gorgeous cinematography with haunting and at times gory scenes, all while shrieking violins play a Psycho-esque theme in the background. If all of this weren’t enough to make you lose your appetite and reconsider splitting that extra-large popcorn, the inevitable existential crisis about your love life just might. As I said in the beginning, this film is not going to leave you feeling secure in your relationship status. In the world of The Lobster, the couples are shown to be together more out of security and convenience rather than genuine affection or desire. The hopeful daters are so terrified at the thought of joining the outlawed loners in the woods that they choose animal transformation or pretend to have something in common with another guest in order to secure a partner. And the loners are so determined to prove that they are better off alone that they punish those among them who do manage to find a genuine connection with someone. Does this sound a little too familiar? There are moments of humor: our protagonist’s frustration at the lack of a bisexual option, the dog overpopulation problem because everyone chooses to be turned into man’s best friend, and the hilariously accurate mandate, “We dance alone. That's why we only play electronic music.” But the majority of the film is just a little too real to be enjoyable. The Lobster is one of the most shockingly raw and poignant critiques of modern romance (or lack thereof) to grace the screens of contemporary cinema. Everyone will undoubtedly leave the theater philosophizing about what animal they would choose to be turned into and why or perhaps arguing about the ambiguous ending. But if you’re anything like me (or the couple that sat in front of me for the first viewing) you’ll also leave the theater openly and vehemently justifying why your relationship status is in NO WAY similar to what The Lobster portrays. But who knows, maybe the third viewing’s the charm.
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