Kings of the Road | Film Review |

This review contains spoilers.

On one hand, there’s a nearly infinite amount of different types of movies in the world. There are countless genres and subgenres, some of which are known and loved and widely used: your average, run-of-the-mill romance, horror, action, sci-fi, western. There are other, lesser-seen variations of these categories, the films that come out as hybrids of sorts: 2015’s Bone Tomahawk, for example, which seamlessly blended the genres of western and horror, and the 2019 South Korean film Parasite, darkly comedic yet haunting and immensely tragic. For many films, an attempt to narrow them down to one genre and one alone would be to commit something of a disservice – a way to cheapen the many different ways they touch, affect, and inspire.

In this sense, it's hard to nail down any combination of genres that Kings of the Road fits into. On the surface, it’s not a movie that’s trying to do much of anything; with the runtime closing in at around three hours, it can feel like a daunting watch, especially since nothing of note really seems to happen. It’s one of the few movies I’ve seen whose plot could be easily described in a single sentence. If I were to use such a sentence, I imagine it would be something like this: “Two strangers meet under unusual circumstances, become friends, go on a road trip together, and ultimately say goodbye and go their separate ways.”

Of course, to say this would be to drastically undermine the experience of those three hours, so I’m obviously not going to end the article there. Because it’s true – on the surface, this is all the movie seems to be interested in accomplishing. Its plot (what little there is) meanders slowly, there are only two characters who are consistent leads from beginning to end, and if you have an issue with foreign films that require you to follow the plot only by reading subtitles, then this one probably isn’t for you. But underneath the deceivingly simple demeanor is the true essence of the story – as well as the fact that, in the end, Kings of the Road is a movie about people.

It might seem a bit strange to say that, considering most movies feature people to some degree. But, despite the many genres and subgenres different pieces of art can fit into, one could really make the argument that in the most general of senses, there are only two types of movies in the world: movies with people, and movies about people. I characterize movies with people as movies that use human beings as a simple mechanism to move the plot forward; they are caricatures in a sense, beings that exist for the pure purpose of bringing the story along – and the story, in these cases, is the main plot device. It is what draws people to the theaters, what pulls money from their wallets and their bank accounts time and time again to watch these intricate, compelling ideas unfold.

And then, there are movies like Kings of the Road. These are the movies about people, the stories whose plots are made up simply by the characters themselves. There’s nothing wrong with either side of storytelling, not by a long shot. They each have a place in the media, in the market, and in the consciousnesses of those who absorb them. They are, however, different. They affect us in opposing ways. One has the ability to teach us of the world and the things in it; the other engages our minds with the intricacy of human nature, the question of why people do the things they do, the wonder of emotion and connection and grief and love.

Somehow, despite its lengthy runtime, Kings of the Road manages to do just that. Its surface-level, do-nothing quality is slowly, delicately overrun by its voracious attempt to understand its leading characters – and, in some way, to understand ourselves in the process. It shows us the relationship between two men who, despite being polar opposites in virtually every way imaginable, touch each other’s lives in a way that will extend far beyond their final meeting. When Bruno (Rudiger Vogler) first meets Robert (Hanns Zischler), the latter has driven his car into a lake, in what appears to be a half-hearted suicide attempt following a separation from his wife. Bruno, seemingly the more well-adjusted of the two, slowly reveals his own misfortunes and shortcomings, which come to a head after the two men travel to Bruno’s childhood home. After spending an evening revisiting his past – which remains largely unseen to us, as the audience, leaving us only with the certainty of how it has culminated in the man we see before us – he goes to Robert with a simple, insightful revelation. “For the first time, I see myself as someone who’s gone through a certain time,” he says. “And that time is my story.”

It's the sort of epiphany whose power is greatly accentuated by the movie’s lengthy, dragging runtime; the sort that might, in fact, fail to be powerful at all had we not spent the last several hours following these two individuals, learning of their stories, and viewing the world through their eyes. Because we know the depths of Bruno and Robert so beautifully well, we’re wholeheartedly in their corner, with the promise that their victories and losses feel like our own. And when they finally part ways, Robert’s final note to Bruno is the ultimate victory for us all. “Everything must change,” it reads simply, in lieu of a long, heartfelt goodbye. Bruno nods and begins to go on his way, accepting and guaranteeing that he will, indeed, change, though change might perhaps be the hardest thing for any person to do.

And it is this message of change, so painful yet supremely necessary, that makes Kings of the Road personally moving. Despite only knowing each other for a short time, we know that Robert and Bruno will forever be inexorably linked to each other, and to us. Those three hours are slow and difficult, but more than worthwhile; and if you stick them through, you won’t soon forget them.