Franz

Holland conjures up some genuinely Kafkaesque images and dialogue exchanges that feel like exactly the biopic Kafka deserves, and in those moments, “Kafka” is quite thrilling. Unfortunately, though, Holland’s surfeit of ideas results in a film that simultaneously feels like too much and not enough; too much deviation from standard biopic formula and not enough connective tissue to make everything cohere.

It is surely a failure, but it has twice the soul and passion of many technically successful pictures from lesser artists. If only that were enough.

It’s ultimately a very strange movie, and a far cry from what anyone expects from even the most idiosyncratic biopics. But it’s hard not to wonder if Franz is ahead of its time, much like Kafka was—which Holland depicts by tethering his consciousness to our fragile present, and constructing, in the process, a bridge to the past.