Mr. K is a species of European art film I had assumed was long extinct: mannered, self-consciously quirky, with an offbeat sense of humor and a visual style that’s both fusty and surreal

There's not much to 'Mr. K' beyond its second-hand surrealism and strained counter-mythmaking.

Succeeds as both an homage to Kafka’s fascination with the absurdity of life, and especially with the socio-bureaucratic systems we humans have wrought upon ourselves, and as a sumptuous and surreal feast for the eyes.

Mr. K is a fever dream of a film; narrative structure and logic are eschewed in favor of a series of vignettes that culminate in a truly — and perfectly — bizarre denouement.