Kinds of Kindness

I walked out of the theater for Kinds of Kindness feeling like I’d just been gently bullied for three hours, and strangely, I didn't mind. After the maximalist, candy-colored triumph of Poor Things, I think a lot of people expected director Yorgos Lanthimos to stay in that lavish, Oscar-friendly lane. Instead, he’s pivoted back to the cold, deadpan discomfort of his earlier Greek films like The Lobster. It’s a 164-minute endurance test of awkward silences and human desperation that feels less like a "movie night" and more like a social experiment you forgot you volunteered for.

I watched this during a matinee screening where the air conditioning was set to "Arctic Tundra," and honestly, the physical shivering matched the on-screen vibes perfectly. There’s a clinical chill to every frame of this film that makes you want to button up your coat, even when the characters are dancing like maniacs in the sun.

The Lanthimos Repertory Theater

The most fascinating hook here is the "repertory" approach. We get three distinct stories, but the same core cast—Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons, Willem Dafoe, Margaret Qualley, Hong Chau, and Mamoudou Athie—returns in each one, playing entirely different characters. It gives the whole affair the energy of a very high-budget, very disturbed summer stock theater troupe.

Jesse Plemons is the undisputed MVP of this triptych. He won Best Actor at Cannes for these roles, and it’s easy to see why. Whether he’s playing a corporate drone who lets his boss pick his meals and his wife, or a paranoid policeman convinced his returned-from-sea spouse is a shapeshifter, he possesses a specific brand of "unsettlingly ordinary." He has this way of looking at a glass of water that makes you think he might either drink it or use it to drown a puppy. Emma Stone continues her streak of being the most fearless A-lister working today, shedding the whimsical artifice of Bella Baxter for something much more jagged and desperate.

Three Flavors of Weird

The stories themselves are loosely connected by themes of power and the lengths we go to for acceptance. The first segment, "The Death of R.M.F.," is easily the strongest. It’s a pitch-black comedy about a man whose entire life is scripted by his boss (Willem Dafoe). When he finally refuses one "kindness"—a request to commit a fatal car accident—his world dissolves. It’s a sharp, hilarious look at how much of our freedom we’re willing to trade for the comfort of being told what to do.

The second story leans into body horror and psychological dread, while the third involves a cult searching for a woman who can raise the dead. While they all share that signature Lanthimos rhythm—where everyone speaks in a stilted, literal monotone—the momentum does start to flag by the final hour. By the time we got to the cult rituals and the purple Dodge Challenger, I started to feel every minute of that nearly three-hour runtime. It’s a movie that feels like being cornered at a party by a very intelligent person who refuses to blink. You’re interested in what they’re saying, but you’re also looking for the nearest exit.

Contemporary Auteurism vs. The Box Office

In our current era of "safe" franchise bets and streaming-friendly sludge, Kinds of Kindness is a weird anomaly. It’s a $15 million indie triptych that got a wide theatrical release despite having zero interest in being "likable." It’s the kind of film that flourishes in the post-pandemic landscape because it offers something the "content" machines can't: a specific, polarizing vision. It doesn't care if you're offended or bored; it only cares that it’s being honest about its own absurdity.

The cinematography by Robbie Ryan is crisp and gorgeous, favoring wide shots that make the characters look like ants in a very cruel maze. The score by Jerskin Fendrix is equally jarring, using sharp piano stabs that sound like someone accidentally sat on the keys at exactly the right moment. It’s technically impeccable, even when the narrative feels like it’s intentionally trying to lose you.

I don’t think this is a film for everyone—in fact, I know it’s not. It’s mean-spirited, repetitive, and occasionally grotesque. But in a cinematic landscape that often feels like it's been sanded down by focus groups, there’s something genuinely refreshing about a movie that is so unapologetically its own thing. It’s a buffet where every dish is seasoned with just a little bit of poison. You might not want a second helping, but you’ll certainly remember the taste.

Kinds of Kindness is a fascinating, if overlong, return to form for a director who refuses to be domesticated. It’s a showcase for some of the best actors of our generation playing the worst versions of humanity. If you’ve got a high tolerance for cringe and a dark sense of humor, it’s a trip worth taking. Just don't expect a hug when it's over.