‘Mr. K’ Review – Crispin Glover Gives a Dynamic Performance in This Mindbender of a Movie

The publicity material for Mr. K, a new surreal drama starring Crispin Glover, describes it as a “Kafkaesque nightmare,” and that’s honestly as good a description as any. We could also call it fantastically Lynchian, if you’ll allow another easy, oft-used reference point. But, eh, why bother gussying it up? It’s just a weird movie, man. But, in this case, it’s a good kind of weird — a trippy, gorgeous-looking meditation on the sometimes horrifying nature of existence starring one of our most off-beat movie stars, whose own “out there” artistic sensibilities make for a perfect fit here. You may be scratching your head by the time the credits roll, but it’ll be tough to say you didn’t have an interesting time getting to them.

What Is ‘Mr. K’ About?

In Mr. K, Glover plays the titular character — a small-time magician who travels from town to town performing his act and trying to find a place in the world. There’s an extremely effective prologue scene where he stands on a small stage doing some basic tricks while a disinterested crowd largely ignores him. The film then jumps forward to Mr. K checking into a large, decaying hotel, where he plans to stay just a single night before rising early in the morning to get to his next show. However, the hotel itself — and all the odd people in it — have other plans for him.

The film is purposefully fuzzy on when and where it’s set. (Everyone speaks English, but the movie is a Norwegian-Belgian-Dutch co-production that was filmed in the Netherlands and is written and directed by Tallulah Hazekamp Schwab, who’s from Oslo.) At first, Mr. K’s efforts to leave are stymied by simple but unsolvable geometry: He can’t find his way back to the lobby. Endless hallways turn back in on themselves, and he struggles to find himself anywhere other than back at his own room. Something supernatural might be at play. He’s not alone in the hotel, though. There are two pleasant elderly ladies, Ruth and Sara (Fionnula Flanagan and Dearbhla Molloy), who dress alike and keep inviting him for a cup of coffee. An entire marching band spills out of small, secret hallway doors. There are high-class, aristocratic artists and low-class workers living in the hotel. Eventually, Mr. K finds himself taken in by the staff of the hotel’s kitchen, a massive group of blue-collar chefs who prepare eggs for breakfast every day and all bunk in the same room, like they’re living on the lowest deck of the Titanic.

The days pass, and Mr. K desperately struggles to resist falling into the routine the hotel itself has set for him. Though most living out their lives in the hotel never think to question their stations, there are some who believe that a great “liberator” is destined to set them free. Might Mr. K be that liberator? And, if so, will he keep his sanity long enough to find the escape he so desperately seeks? Things grow more dire (and more strange) as the story progresses. The hotel appears to be shrinking, and it’s possible something organic is living inside the walls that Mr. K starts marking up with chalk as he tries to map a way out. Is he mad? Or is the hotel itself mad? In truth, the question that the movie’s really asking is: Is humanity’s very existence mad?

Mr. K has a lot going for it, but its biggest strength has to be the look of the hotel itself. The production and set design on display here is phenomenal, as the hotel stands out as its own character with its own arc in the story. Near the start, it feels ornate but antiquated, but as the film progresses, the decay really sets in. Tattered green wallpaper peels off the walls, water pipes run this way and that, springing leaks, and the hallways become cluttered with moss-covered furniture. It immediately lends the film’s bizarre story a certain level of credibility and places the viewer in a single setting that is both unsettling and intriguing.

Past that, the next big piece is Glover himself, an actor who has made a career out of playing peculiar characters. What’s interesting about Mr. K is that, while this movie seems very much aligned with his sensibilities, Glover is actually playing a bit of a straight man here. The situation itself is what’s unfathomably weird — not him. Glover may not like me saying it, but Mr. K even has a hint of his most famous role, George McFly, in him, as his middle-aged magician is a somewhat meek man who’s unsure of himself or his own abilities. He’s not always super comfortable in his own skin and has a hard time communicating outside of performing quick sleight-of-hand tricks for anyone who turns their attention his way. As he sinks deeper into the hotel’s grip and his frustration grows at his predicament, he finds a strength and determination that perhaps he never knew was there. It’s a strong, dynamic performance and a reminder that Glover can be one of our most fascinating actors when given the chance. The rest of the cast is filled with folks who would not be recognized by an American audience, but that anonymity works in the movie’s favor, as actors like Jan Gunnar Røise (playing a young cook who befriends Mr. K) and Bjørn Sundquist (playing the kitchen’s head chef) are able to create characters who feel both distinct and unique.

The story takes some bizarre turns and leans heavily into its own weird vibe in its final act, but what’s refreshing is that it never feels like a puzzle box to be solved. There are no twists or things to “figure out.” Instead, Shwab’s film merely follows Mr. K to the end of his journey and whatever form of escape or stark realizations are contained therein. The film uses its grotesque story to put forth the notion that we’re all stuck in an absurd existence we cannot escape from. The movie pokes the audience to guess at the hotel’s true nature, but, by the end (and despite some outlandish reveals), it seems clear that the hotel is a stand-in for life itself. You wake up, you bump into some people, you do a job you probably hate, and then you go back to bed, only to wake up and do it all again the next day. That’s the hell Mr. K finds himself stuck in, and perhaps it’s not as unfamiliar as it first appears.

Despite the easy comparisons dropped at the top of this review, Mr. K is a tough film to classify. It’s not a horror film per se, as it’s not ever really interested in scaring its audience. But just calling it a “surreal drama” seems a disservice to just how surreal things actually get. Yeah, it’s got some David Lynch-type things going on. Think David Cronenberg‘s Naked Lunch or Darren Aronofsky‘s Mother! and you’re in the right ballpark, too. That’s the realm of opulent cinematic lunacy we’re dealing with here, and Schwab, making only her second full-length dramatic feature, feels like a natural at … however exactly you want to classify that genre. It won’t surprise you that so does Glover. The end result is a film that truly feels like it has something to say and goes about saying it in the strangest way possible.

Mr. K had its World Premiere at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival.