'Kitchen Stories': An unlikely friendship gets this watched plot boiling
Its premise is so off-the-wall, it's barely in the room. Hamer, intrigued by studies of kitchen efficiency conducted by Swedish scientists in the 1950s, let his imagination wander: What if researchers studied not housewives, but longtime bachelors? And what if an institute sent out "observers" in caravans, with instructions to carefully observe their subjects but not speak to them? And what if one of those subjects, a taciturn farmer, decided that he didn't like being observed by a fastidious fellow sitting on a high, ladderlike chair in the corner of his pea-green kitchen, and so began secretly preparing meals in his upstairs bedroom?
You probably never thought to ask these questions, but "Kitchen Stories" answers them.
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Isak (Joachim Calmeyer) signs up for the experiment in the hopes of getting a horse out of the deal, but quickly regrets it when he finds Folke (Tomas Norström) peeking at him from his perch. A man who takes his work very seriously indeed, Folke schleps his briefcase with him up the ladder every morning. And at night he uses a miner's headlamp, the better to view Isak's nocturnal wanderings.
At first, the two don't speak; the fastidious Folke is following orders, while Isak is too annoyed to acknowledge the other man's presence. But they can't help interacting nonetheless. There's a delicious scene in which Isak carefully baits a few mousetraps at the kitchen table, trying not to snap his finger, while Folke watches breathlessly from above, his whole body tensed in the expectation of a sharp noise. (Alas, he coughs.) Then, bits of conversation begin to evolve. "Next week I have to take a bath," says Isak, apropos of nothing. "Indeed," says Folke, determined to keep the interaction going.
Set in rural Norway, where the ever-present snow crunches below the characters' feet, "Kitchen Stories" has a whimsical, almost magical quality to it. The sight of the caravan of cars, each towing a pod-shaped trailer (in which the observer sleeps at night) through the winding roads, is oddly lovely; the green of the kitchen takes on a welcoming fishbowl quality. Though there's a melancholy mood to much of the film, it leaves an audience happy — as if we, like Folke and Isak, have made a new friend.
Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725 or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com