Mr. K

Even though the title character of Mr. K lacks a full surname, it’s easy to imagine what it could be. Inventive and surreal, this second feature by Amsterdam-based director Tallulah H Schwab playfully evokes Franz Kafka’s tales of hapless characters finding themselves in increasingly strange, bewildering, and sinister circumstances. And, as is the case in those literary counterparts, the predicament unfolding on screen serves as a potent allegory about conditions facing people living in less outlandish scenarios.

The ordeal for Mr. K’s misfortunate protagonist — a travelling magician played by Crispin Glover in one of the richest performances in his long and continually surprising career — begins when he checks into a once-stately hotel. The following morning, Mr. K is understandably confused by his inability to find the exit. Then again, the magician doesn’t have much time to search for it due to the demands imposed on him by the hotel’s other inhabitants, a colourful gallery that includes a rather intimidating troupe of musicians, a bustling crew of kitchen workers, and a very classy elderly guest played by the great Fionnula Flanagan.

Though Glover’s Mr. K expresses admirable patience and fortitude in the face of many curveballs, he inevitably starts to come undone. Conversely, Schwab grows ever more exacting in her control of the film’s unabashedly peculiar tone. Evocative of the early hits of Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro and the hotel nightmares of Stanley Kubrick and David Lynch, the ingenious visual design is another reason that Mr. K is well worth getting lost in.

JASON ANDERSON

Content advisory: mature themes, coarse language