THE KITCHEN (2024) - Mark Reviews Movies

The Kitchen, Netflix

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Review by Mark Dujsik | January 18, 2024

Set in an unspecified but seemingly near future, The Kitchen portrays a London of those who would be ignored and forgotten, except for the fact that they're living in a place the wealthier want. The setting is primarily a public housing complex in the city, where residents put up with uncertain utilities, regular shutoffs of water, and the occasional raid by police because, for the most part, they have nowhere else to go.

Legally, the residents of "the Kitchen," the last-standing apartment complex for those who need housing assistance, are trespassing, What's the alternative, though? The screenplay by co-director Daniel Kaluuya and Joe Murtagh never makes that clear, but do we really need to know what happens to people who are forced out of their homes with no monetary compensation, no government safety net, and no permanent shelter awaiting them or to be found elsewhere in the city? This is a matter of life or death.

The actual story here, though, isn't exactly about the Kitchen, its residents, and whatever societal changes and forces have led to such desperation and openly passive rebellion against the system. It is about Izi (Kane Robinson), a man who works for a futuristic funeral parlor of sorts and who has applied for residency in one of the higher-end apartment buildings that have become the norm for living in London. He's a man who clearly sees himself above all of the mess and worry around him, if his introductory scene is any indication.

Water to the west wing of the Kitchen has been shut off again by the authorities, and despite the polite request of the complex's local radio DJ and public service announcer, Izi doesn't care that other people need that water or the shower. Instead, he takes his time bathing before work, ignoring the flashing red light and the alarm that notify a user that time is up, as well as all of the people complaining, yelling, and pounding on the bathroom door. The man is in the midst of his own private little rebellion here, but we might as well call it what it is: simple selfishness.

Is that any way to live in this world of the future or, for that matter, in the world we have now—the one that, from the film's perspective, will lead to this dystopian vision, where impoverished people are seen as nothing more than a collective obstacle for further land development. That's certainly the case for the residents of the Kitchen, whose apartment complex has been purchased by some business entity for some new commercial or residential structure.

It's also the case even with the dead, since traditional burials have become an expensive commodity. The solution, which Izi sees firsthand at his job, is cheaper cremation and, for those with some money to spend, the chance for those remains to become fertilizer for a memorial tree. As for what happens to a tree when the family can't afford to have it maintained at the funeral facility, even the cynical Izi can't quite bring himself to say.

All of this world-building, brought to uncomfortably routine life by Kaluuya and co-director Kibwe Tavares, is important, even if it isn't the main focus of the story. We have to see this world for the cold, hard, and casually cruel place that it is—not only as a warning or an act of prophecy, but also to understand how and why Izi has become the isolated, emotionally distanced man he is. The impressive, soulful performance from Robinson, a musician in his first leading role in a feature, communicates so much of this, as well as the character's gradual evolution over the course of the story, without words.

The potential turning point for the character arrives early, when he notices a funeral for a woman with a familiar name. The only attendee is her teenaged son Staples (Hope Ikpoku Jr.), who spots Izi watching the service and approaches the man after. How did Izi know his mother? Is there something this stranger needs to tell the boy about his relationship with her—and, maybe, to Staples? Izi is initially dismissive, but after seeing the boy spending time with a young gang in the Kitchen, he decides to let Staples stay with him until he moves into that newer, nicer, and much more official home.

So much of this is surprisingly understated. The relationship between Izi and Staples is the core of the story, but it's fascinating how the central question of their bond isn't as obvious as it might seem from the setup. We're not left wondering if Izi is or isn't the kid's father. The notion is far more basic than that: Can this man, who has only thought of himself and his desires and his needs for so long (He's shocked to discover that a co-worker, played by Demmy Ladipo, has a daughter, but the guy points out he never bothered to ask for all the time they've known each other), even consider another person's situation and how he might help it?

In this way, the filmmakers avoid easy melodrama, both in terms of its depiction of this near-future society, which just reveals itself naturally by way of the narrative, and that central relationship, which is always in flux and couldn't possibly be resolved with a single answer to what would seemingly be the most important question about it. The Kitchen allows this world and these characters to breathe, making it a tale that feels real and, in the case of this futuristic society, sadly possible.

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