This
is Kafka like we have never seen him before: lusty and Mongolian. Our alienated
protagonist is indeed a land surveyor stuck in a bureaucratic nightmare, but he
is a rather surly slacker of a chap (and a bit of a horndog). Nonetheless, Inner
Mongolia (the Chinese Autonomous Republic) stands in quite well for the vaguely
Eastern European setting of Kafka’s The
Castle in Darhad Erdenibulag & Emyr ap Richard’s K (trailer
here)
which screens during the 2015 edition of New Directors/New Films.
K,
as he is still simply known, lacks the proper documentation to stay in the
small provincial town governed by the nearby (yet conspicuously unseen) castle,
despite having been summoned by the governor. Obviously, this causes a bit of
an official quandary, especially when it is determined the original work
request was sent out in error. Nevertheless, he is now an employee of the Castle,
officially reporting to Minister Klamm, who has already palmed off the surveyor
on the ailing town mayor.
Still
believing he has actual work to do, K doggedly pursues a meeting with Klamm,
unaware his actions constitute a serious breach of local protocol. He even
takes up with Frieda, a tavern hostess who is rumored to be Klamm’s mistress,
but his motives for that might be more carnal and less mercenary than many
assume. Indeed, despite the precariousness of his position, K will have his
share of hedonistic indulgences.
Although
ap Richard’s screenplay simplifies the unfinished Kafka source novel, he is
still relatively faithful to its overall storyline. K duly butts heads with
Artur and Jeremias, the two locals assigned to serve as his assistants. He also
becomes ambiguously involved with the family of Castle messenger Barnabas,
particularly his older sister Olga.
Frankly,
the oddest thing about ap Richard’s adaptation is how much fun it allows K. Up
until the closing sequences, he and Erdenibulag maintain a tone that is better
described as eccentric than surreal or, shall we say, Kafkaesque. Since they
largely dispense with the paperwork motif, it is even more challenging to read
allegorical significance into their updated re-conception. However, they
certainly capture a grubby sense of provincial corruption.
As
K, Bayin serves partly as the film’s straight man and partly as its madman, but
he is a weirdly effective in both capacities. Jula similarly keeps the audience
off balance as the possible femme fatale Frieda, while both Yirgui and Jüdengowa
have surprisingly touching scenes as Olga and Pepi, Frieda’s barmaid successor,
respectively.
