Starring: Crispin Glover, Sunnyi Mells and Fionnula Flanagan
Directed by: Tallulah Hazekamp Schwab
Rated: NR
Running Time: 94 minutes
Our Score: 2.5 out of 5 Stars
Even knowing this review might lean negative, I thought to myself, “I need to write about “Mr. K.”” For a peek behind the curtain, sometimes I skip reviewing bad films. Why? Because not every debut—or in this case, every film—needs to be the defining highlight of a director’s career. Just ask James Cameron. There’s often value in unpacking what didn’t work, even if you never quite reach an answer. Sometimes, trying to make sense of a creative misfire is rewarding in its own way.
“Mr. K” follows its titular character (Crispin Glover), a traveling magician whose best days are clearly behind him. After performing a show where no one in the audience seems remotely interested, he checks into a once-grand hotel that, much like him, has seen better days. The place feels like a retired athlete being honored at a ceremony moments before being wheeled into a nursing home. What “Mr. K” doesn’t realize—until waking up after what seems like a peaceful night’s rest—is that he might never leave.
The hotel is bizarre. A band plays endlessly in the halls. Veins, literally, pulse beneath the wallpaper. The kitchen staff live and work in an increasingly distraught state of pure squalor. Mr. K seems like the only person not on some sort of hallucinogenic, despite offering no insight or solution to the chaos he stumbles through. The film itself morphs constantly, dipping into themes of capitalism, democracy, social class, cosmic philosophy, and—probably—other things I missed.
So what’s the issue? It’s not that “Mr. K” is bad—it’s that I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re the kind of person who enjoys films that you might end up loathing. I know when I enjoy a “bad” movie, and I also know when I don’t enjoy something that’s probably meant for a niche audience. “Mr. K” isn’t remotely mainstream, and its message might not be meant for me. But what keeps me from disliking it outright is that I want to tune into the frequency of people who admire it.
Glover, for his part, is no stranger to weird. For every mainstream hit he’s been in—”Back to the Future,” “Charlie’s Angels”—he’s also taken swings in oddball projects like “Willard” or “Hot Tub Time Machine.” Watching him play a philosophical, socially detached weirdo just feels…right. So I found myself constantly wondering if there was more beneath the surface.
So what’s the verdict? If I had to answer honestly: hung jury. I could just as easily rate this 1.5 out of 5 or 3.5 out of 5. I swing back and forth between the parts I admired and the parts that deeply frustrated me. Writing about it helped me process it, which sometimes happens when you sit with a film. Sometimes I circle back and say, “Throw this all out.” Other times, “Nailed it.” This time, I’m standing by what I’ve written, even if it reads like an incomplete thought about an incomplete film.
“Mr. K” is frustrating. It asks for patience when it has little of its own. It asks for understanding without offering clarity. It lifts itself up only to contradict what it just said. It’s a journey, and in many ways, it constantly challenges you to reflect on your own. Your own viewpoints. Your own framework for what a story—even a strange one—should be. “Mr. K” is shouting something. The question is: do you want to listen?