An absurdist take on a day-in-the-life, Mira Fornay’s drama COOK F**K KILL produces some complex narrative strands and attempts to deliver a deep take-home message. COOK F**K KILL explores the relationship dynamics within a dysfunctional family, with particular emphasis on masculinity, domestic violence and questions of identity. While captivating and innovative in the most part, sections of the film risk being underdeveloped.

COOK F**K KILL unfolds unexpectedly and does not follow a typical trajectory. The film’s narrative restarts itself several times, resulting in its structure being reminiscent of a game. Jaroslav K’s (Jaroslav Plesl) marriage to Blanka (Jazmína Cigánková) is disintegrating, and his children are kept from him, locked behind a gate at their grandmother’s house. It is as though Jaroslav must complete a series of tasks to reach his goal while facing obstacles along the way, his primary ‘opponents’ being his family. Jaroslav works to ‘unlock’ the gate to gain access to his children, and when something untoward happens, the narrative restarts, and in one interesting twist, his character resets. Fornay’s inventive plot structure ensures that COOK F**K KILL pulls you in and then instantly pushes you away, keeping you close to the action while never revealing its seemingly supernatural secrets.

This ‘resetting’ of Jaroslav’s character – he turns into a woman, believing all his issues would have been solved if he had been born a girl – does not reset his trajectory, and despite changes to his outward appearance, his character traits remains the same. Jaroslav is an intensely jealous man, particularly of his wife, and his jealousy frequently manifests itself as violence against her even when his character has ‘reset’. This twist raises interesting questions with regards to gender and familial dynamics, and it further subverts any trust in the narrative process, which continually changes course. With such unexpected changes, COOK F**K KILL denies the viewer any sense of stability. The film is most potent when pushing boundaries and testing expectations, however, some of the film’s occult undercurrents lose their punch. While most elements of the film have a lasting effect, a group of women from the community risk being forgotten as a Greek choir rather than a coven of all-powerful and all-knowing sorceresses.

Fornay’s plot is unique, and the film thrives on its ability to twist sympathy while encouraging distrust of the central characters. COOK F**K KILL reviews the power dynamic between the sexes, aptly typified by the overbearing, manipulative mother and meek wife finding her voice. While such characters could risk becoming clichéd, Fornay’s inclusion of such characters serves to reinforce the film’s satirical take: these women are not to be pitied, or their situation shamed. Instead, they continually ask the viewer to question motives and sympathy. Other characters, however, like the coven of occult women, fail to deliver their potential fully.

COOK F**K KILL is not gratuitously complex, but it sometimes misses the mark with some additional plot strands that become confusing. COOK F**K KILL is like a satirical GROUNDHOG DAY, creating the same sense of frustration but in a more innovative way. Its best successes come in these experimental moments, which push boundaries and test expectations as long as you are ready to move with the film, rather than let the film move you.