Family values, lies and a cat

At least there's no severed ear

"Dogtooth", by Greek filmmaker Giorgos Lanthimos, gives us one of the most dysfunctional families I've ever seen on screen. The film started out as frustrating and pretentious, but the minimalist imagery won me over eventually and I was riveted. Unencumbered by traditional notions of setting, plot and context, Lanthimos presents us with a family trapped in a bizarre capsule-like existence. Here, when an airplane flies overhead, the mother throws a toy plane from behind a shrub and then watches the three children - all moving through or beyond their teenage years - fight for ownership of the fallen object.


Forgive me, for I think I've just given something away; not a plot twist or anything that changes one's perception of the film, but how the film plays with the viewer, keeping you in the dark on how exactly the family works. Some things are hinted at through the film and then unexpectedly a flashback (which is not signaled as a flashback) appears to clarify what's going on. It's in this that the domestic cat gains great significance, and I will say no more on the matter. The mother teaches the children language and vocabulary that fail to correspond to what we know about the words used to signify things. A daughter asks for the phone while seated at the dinner table, and the mother hands her what we'd refer to as "salt". If language constructs reality, then take a deep breath.    

Oh, the story. Best to keep it simple. An upper middle class family - mother, father, two daughters and a son, who's the oldest - live in a house that seems to be geographically isolated from the rest of the world. They could be anywhere. There's nothing concrete or manifest to keep everyone inside, but the children have been told from very young that they cannot exit the gate or a dark fate will befall them (or something like that). So, they don't leave the premises. The mother and father are perfectly aware of what they are doing, and while mom stays home, dad goes out every morning to the factory he owns (he has to fund the fantasy somehow).

How can he leave home while the children cannot? He does so in a car. Such is the logic of the world constructed and controlled by the parents. Even sexual behaviour is controlled; if the son cannot find a suitable woman to relieve his needs, why, he has two sisters, hasn't he?  

"Dogtooth" excels at alienation. The family imposes some sense of exile, while the film's language - static lingering shots, limited editing - avoids an emotional connection to any character. Nothing is sensationalised; we are simply shown what happens through a detached lens. Lanthimos does not give us a single character to align with; one character that does serve as a kind of entry point into this bizarre setup has her own needs, desires and whatnot to tend to, and does not stay very long. Much like the children, we are trapped in the movie with people we do not know, and we don't necessarily want to be there.

The film is the opposite of escapism. By showing us a world constructed around the avoidance of life as we know it, we are forced to reflect on what we know, especially about family dynamics. Power shifts from father to mother and back; theirs seems to be a functional partnership, with added sexual benefits. Somewhat surprisingly, there is a narrative turning point in the film. At the same time, it is exactly what we expect and not at all what we expect. This turning point even feeds into an ambiguous climactic moment, with a final shot suggesting that Schrodinger was right.

The film may be ambiguous about a lot of things, but it's far from inaccessible. There's no palm-to-the-head viewer reaction suggesting a eureka-like realisation, or a complete failure. On its own terms, within its own world, the film makes perfect sense. We've never seen a family drama like this.

Did I mention the cat?