Franz Becoming Kafka - Film Review - Fremantle Shipping News

Courtesy of Luna Cinemas, Gayle O’Leary recently attended a preview of Franz Becoming Kafka at Luna, all about Franz Kafka, the German-language Jewish Czech writer and novelist born in Prague, in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Here’s her engaging review.

Does the world we live in confuse you?

Do you wonder why we have to obey pointless rules? Do you enjoy staying up late? Do you feel pressured to conform? Do you worry about what your peers think of you? Feel self conscious about your appearance? Want romance in your life without the shackles of marriage? Prefer writing to people than actually talking to them?

If yes to some or all of these, you’d probably relate well to Franz Kafka. Described as “one of the giants of 20th century literature”, his influence reaches everywhere into contemporary art. Rest assured you don’t have to be familiar with his renowned writings to enjoy this film, although it would assist in comprehending it.

Director Agniezka Holland takes on the bold project of capturing an unknowable, tortured genius and simultaneously admits the hubris of trying by cutting in scenes from the present day where gasping tourists walk where Kafka walked, lay where he sunbathed (towels available for purchase), and apparently eat what he ate (as a vegetarian, perhaps a burger is less likely). If you’d like a souvenir, say “souvenir”. If you want to talk to Kafka, join the queue.

There are some facts that we may safely glean about young Franz. He had an incredibly astute, discerning and universal perspective on life despite being contained within a city – Prague – he always dreamt of leaving. He held firm principles. Despite asking his friend to burn his manuscripts after death, his work was groundbreaking. He also must have been an unbearable child. Well meaning and well behaved, but holding an opinion on everything and a fussiness that would have driven his parents spare. Perhaps his demanding father brought it upon himself.

True to the subject matter, there is surrealism that gives us a few clues about his state of mind, such as the fear of being watched interwoven with the Kafkaphile-museum trekkers of modern day, looming dark figures, and loss of childhood innocence expressed through biting a cherry. Hmmn.

Conga lines of grown men endeavouring to overcome insecurity about their body image laid bare are apparently, remarkably, not a conjuring of his imagination.

The settings of Prague in the film are beautiful. From interiors carefully curated to echo scenes from Kafka’s books, to the Jewish quarter of Prague, to the river, and to the countryside, it all feels like an expansion of his mindset. Sharply cut shots, angles, whirlwind flyouts, and close ups do a wonderful job of expressing the energy of 19th century city life and portraying inner dialogue. When subtlety is no longer called for, the characters break the fourth wall and speak directly to the audience as a mockumentary.

There is clean, soft light that flatters the scenes from Franz’s strenuous rowing to the cheeky camera zoom that then unzooms when he whips on a towel after showering.

I won’t spoil any more or risk telling you Kafka facts you might not already know.

But I wonder if you’ll walk away from this film truly believing that you know Kafka.