THE HATER. An Intriguing Dive into Class Tensions

Oh yes, all the various social classes and spheres take their fair share of hits in Jan Komasa’s The Hater, to the point that someone’s hands must have hurt from constantly meting out punishment with a ruler. The right wing and the left wing get their blows in turn, the city and the countryside receive resounding slaps, technology is condemned as the work of Satan, while analog existence is portrayed as the domain of naïveté and an outdated, maladjusted order. Everything on this scale trembles so distinctly, yet so subtly, that the overall message can be placed at most on the shelf labeled “symmetrism” before heading home. Undoubtedly, however, The Hater was calculated to be discussed long after its premiere. Unfortunately, there’s not much to talk about.

To say that 2020 was a year of cinema delving into class tensions is to say nothing at all, but what’s intriguing is how filmmakers attempted to tell us about it. On one hand, they could use a figure, let’s say—one established through comic books. Alternatively, they could rely on the symbolism of space and complex interpersonal relationships, as seen in Parasite. Jan Komasa, willingly or not, stands alongside the zeitgeist of contemporary cinema, as he is a filmmaker whose next words are eagerly anticipated. Corpus Christi skillfully eluded the constraints of stark divisions, being a film free from judgment. The line between the sacred and the profane was delicate, just like the line between good and evil. In The Hater, however, the divide between two worlds is drawn with a permanent marker and reinforced with oil paint.

Tomek, expelled from law school for plagiarism, urgently seeks a job. Coming from the countryside, he is too ashamed to admit to his surrogate aunt and uncle (who fund his scholarship) that his legal career has collapsed—especially since he is in love with their daughter, Gabi (Vanessa Aleksander). When he lands a job at a PR agency run by the demonic Beata, he discovers his talent for ruining people’s lives with a computer. He becomes a professional hater. After a series of small assignments—like sabotaging the career of a fitness influencer—he is given a much bigger task: to “moderate” and “crush” the political campaign of Paweł Rudnicki. Class frustration is not fueled with tools of human destruction, which is why Tomek proves to be exceptionally effective at what he does.

It’s not hard to understand the protagonist’s motivations. Though entirely unsympathetic, he carries elements from films like The Talented Mr. Ripley. Constantly teetering on the edge of truth and exposure, desperate to belong to those who despise him, he fades more and more into a world where values exist only as quotations. His entanglement in the depicted reality and his relationship with the Krasucki family create interesting tension, yet everything seems too convenient—things just happen, leading someone to ruin. When Tomek decides to destroy Rudnicki (a dull Maciej Stuhr), it is driven by personal motives, as his target is an important political ally of the father of the girl he is obsessed with. So obsessed, in fact, that after sneaking into her room with a letter, flowers, and (unbeknownst to her) a bugging device, he must be cut off from the Krasuckis. The protagonist, played with bravado by Maciej Musiałowski, is a textbook creeper whom we follow throughout the film, so it’s no surprise that the movie wants us to like—or at least understand—him. There is, however, no justification for the Krasucki family, who are not manipulated by the film the way the audience is. When Gabi comes to Tomek with an apology, we don’t really understand why. We know little about what she thinks, how she feels about Tomek or her family. She seems to apologize purely because the script expects her to. The screenplay contains more of these convenient maneuvers, guiding the story toward sympathy for a psychopath. Fortunately, the stellar cast helps redeem them.

Jan Komasa is too skilled a director, and Mateusz Pacewicz too capable a screenwriter, to allow themselves to openly hack away at just one side in this dark parable about the erosion of the human soul. Warsaw’s upper class treats the refugee crisis as a pretext for another contemporary art installation; they listen to classical music over dinner, and the wealthy mock those who don’t know how to eat shrimp. When an alt-right opponent of Rudnicki’s ideals appears in the film, he is, of course, a walking stereotype: overweight, lisping, only competent in the world of video games and shooting ranges. As I silently plead with the screenwriter not to make this character live solely with his mother or grandmother, my prayers go unanswered. However, this subplot leads to elements that establish Komasa as a truly great director. And though the film plays on well-worn notes, familiar to the audience, it contains several powerful scenes that make you clench your fists on the armrests. It’s hard to leave the cinema unsatisfied when witnessing the work of someone who maintains such firm control over his craft.

The Hater is an example of cinema too enamored with its own complex concept. It is the complete opposite of Corpus Christi, in which a touching, character-focused narrative grew around a simple overheard anecdote. In this case, everything bows to the central idea and messages spelled out in bold, headline-sized font. Stunning cinematography, a magnetic Maciej Musiałowski, and constant close-ups of his nuanced, emotionally charged face are all ornaments that cannot conceal the feeling that this is an undiscovered script by Maria Peszek and Patryk Vega, found and adapted by David Fincher. It’s an intriguing, suspenseful piece, yet as distant from reality as last year’s news article.