Film Review: "The Empty Stool": An Absurdist Commentary on Capitalism and Possession

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In “The Empty Stool”, directed by László Kováč, we delve into a surreal narrative that critiques modern capitalism and the fragility of ownership. The film follows Anton Novak, played by Milos Varga, whose careless act of leaving his expensive iPhone on a park stool triggers a chaotic exploration of alienation and material obsession. As Anton searches for his lost phone, he interacts with a diverse cast, each offering their perspective on ownership and responsibility, revealing the absurdity of a society driven by self-interest.

Kováč masterfully blends dark humor with poignant social commentary, depicting Anton's emotional turmoil as he confronts bizarre characters, including a whimsical artist and a brooding philosopher. The empty stool symbolizes the hollowness of consumerism, while Anton’s journey ultimately leads him to abandon his quest for the phone, choosing authentic relationships over material possessions. The film ends on a haunting note, prompting viewers to reflect on the deeper implications of ownership and identity in contemporary society.

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In the Eastern European film “The Empty Stool”, directed and produced by the enigmatic László Kováč, we are thrust into a surreal narrative that captures the absurdity of modern capitalism and the fragility of ownership in a society increasingly defined by materialism. The film follows the plight of Anton Novak, a disaffected young man played with remarkable nuance by the rising star Milos Varga. When Anton carelessly places his expensive iPhone on a stool in a bustling park, he inadvertently opens a Pandora's box of existential dread and societal critique.

The film begins with Anton lounging on a park bench, his phone resting innocently on a nearby stool, a symbol of his status in a world that reveres material possessions. This seemingly innocuous act sets the stage for a Kafkaesque exploration of alienation and absurdity. Anton’s phone—a prized possession in a society that equates worth with wealth—becomes an object of obsession and conflict, representing not just his connection to the world, but also his fragile identity within it.

As Anton returns to the stool, the phone is gone. In a panic, he turns to the eclectic group of park-goers, all portrayed by a talented ensemble cast including the whimsical Anya Kozlov as the eccentric artist, and Viktor Petrov as the brooding philosopher. Each character offers a different perspective on ownership and responsibility, but the collective denial of having taken the phone spirals into an absurd cacophony of accusations and justifications. This chaotic response serves as a microcosm of a capitalist society, where personal accountability is often overshadowed by a shared self-interest, and community is dismantled in the pursuit of individual gain.

Kováč’s direction artfully balances dark humor with poignant social commentary. The absurdity of the situation escalates as Anton becomes increasingly desperate, retracing his steps while interrogating the various characters in the park, each more bizarre than the last. Anya’s character, with her colorful attire and avant-garde beliefs, claims that “material possessions are a societal construct,” while Viktor, puffing on a pipe, philosophizes about the transient nature of reality itself. Their musings reflect the absurdity of trying to find meaning in an environment dictated by ownership, where everyone is quick to distance themselves from responsibility.

The cinematography enhances this absurdist lens, with wide shots of the park that juxtapose the beauty of nature against the frantic chaos of urban life. The camera lingers on the empty stool, now a ghostly reminder of what was lost, as Anton’s emotional turmoil intensifies. It serves as a visual metaphor for the hollowness of consumerism—an object once held in esteem now abandoned in the face of collective indifference. Kováč cleverly utilizes the empty stool to symbolize how quickly value dissipates in a society fixated on possession; what was once a prized item becomes an empty promise.

As Anton’s search continues, the absurdity takes on darker tones. The interactions grow increasingly surreal, echoing the works of playwrights like Samuel Beckett and Eugène Ionesco. One scene features a group of elderly women knitting, who maintain that the phone was merely an illusion—a reflection of Anton's own insecurities. Their laughter, tinged with a sinister edge, embodies the disillusionment that permeates the film. Here, Kováč reveals a stark truth: in a world where capitalism commodifies even the most personal of belongings, the loss of material possessions can lead to a loss of self.

As the film progresses, the narrative takes an unexpected turn when Anton is confronted by a masked figure who claims to have the phone. This figure, a bizarre manifestation of Anton's anxieties about loss and alienation, offers an absurd ultimatum: to retrieve his phone, Anton must give up something of equal value. This encounter culminates in a philosophical discussion about possession, identity, and the nature of capitalism. It raises the question of whether our belongings truly define us, or if they merely serve as hollow markers of status in a relentless pursuit of consumerism.

The film’s climax is both hilarious and unsettling, as Anton grapples with the realization that the pursuit of ownership has alienated him from genuine connection. In a society obsessed with consumption, he learns that the real tragedy lies not in the loss of his phone, but in the loss of authenticity and community. Kováč’s biting critique is evident: in the scramble for possessions, we risk losing sight of what it means to be human.

As the film reaches its conclusion, Anton’s journey serves as a microcosm of contemporary society. He ultimately chooses to abandon the pursuit of the phone, embracing instead a more meaningful existence defined not by possessions, but by relationships. This decision is both liberating and poignant, highlighting the absurdity of capitalism and the deep existential void it creates. The film ends with Anton walking away from the park, leaving behind the empty stool—an image that lingers, prompting viewers to reflect on their own attachments to material goods.

In a chilling twist, Kováč, who wrote and produced the film, mysteriously disappeared shortly after its release, rumored to have been abducted by masked men. This eerie real-life parallel adds another layer of intrigue to *The Empty Stool*, as it underscores the themes of disappearance and loss that pervade the film. It leaves audiences questioning not only the fate of the filmmaker but also the nature of our reality, where the lines between absurdity and truth blur.

In conclusion, *The Empty Stool* is a masterful exploration of the absurdity of capitalism and possession, woven through a narrative that is both hilarious and heartbreaking. Kováč’s direction and the exceptional performances of Varga, Kozlov, and Petrov illuminate the pitfalls of a society obsessed with material wealth, ultimately reminding us of the deeper connections that define our humanity. As we laugh and ponder the absurdities presented on screen, we are left with the haunting reminder that in the relentless pursuit of possession, we may very well lose ourselves in the process.