Schmuel (Géza Röhrig) has recently lost his beloved wife to cancer. The well-liked cantor and father of two finds his world thrown into disarray with this tragic incident, and as a result, he recedes from public view, becoming a shadow of his former self, constantly burdened with nightmares and dark thoughts about his late wife, especially her decaying body, which haunts him to the point of near-insanity, causing him to become misanthropic and reserved from the world. He goes in search of guidance, but no one seems to be of any help to him, until he comes across Albert (Matthew Broderick), a milquetoast of a science professor at a small community college, and the only person willing to humour Schmuel and give him any attention to his plight. The two men form an unlikely friendship, perhaps informed by their crippling loneliness, because Albert himself has become detached from the world since he and his wife divorced, and he finds a kindred spirit in the strange man who pesters him with such ferocity. Their main area of inquiry is how the body decomposes – Schmuel believes he can only have peace when he understands how a body decays, hoping that the process is rapid, so that his beloved wife can very soon return to dust, and not be a deteriorating corpse for much longer. Albert does his best to employ his scientific knowledge, but eventually, both men discover they aren’t on a purely academic journey, but one that goes much deeper than anything they could possibly understand.

Grief is a difficult topic, but it’s one literature tends to love. Unfortunately, the majority of us have experienced grief of some point, so this kind of story is resonant to many viewers. If the dedication that ends this film has anything to say about it, To Dust is a film that comes from a profoundly personal place for director Shawn Snyder, who have somehow managed to make the funniest film ever made on the subject of grief, which is a remarkable accomplishment, especially because this film is not anything less than a profoundly moving film about life after death, one that elicits laughs without ever being mean-spirited, but yet still deriving humour from its exploration of some very controversial subject matter. This is a meaningful film, but not one that necessarily avoids going to some very dark places, and while this is a film bound to offend many viewers, its ultimately still a very sentimental piece of existential commentary, taking on a difficult story that not only touches on death but on the struggles of those who are left behind. To Dust is not for everyone, but it is one of the year’s most poignant works, a tragicomedy about grief that is as funny as it is heartbreaking, and as meaningful as it is brilliantly satirical.

Loss isn’t easy for anyone, especially when it is someone who we truly loved. Grief is one of the most difficult experiences anyone can go through, and the pain that comes with losing a family member or friend seems almost impossible to fix. The main character in To Dust loses his wife to cancer, and for the months after his death, he recedes from reality, living in a world of perpetual sadness. Even his suit that he used to wear proudly has become tattered and torn, and he refuses to mend it – what point is there fixing external factors when one’s internal state is fractured? Snyder takes an unflinching look at the process of grieving, delivering a heartfelt statement on the experience of loss, and how tough it can be to put one’s life back together. Like everything, grieving is a process, and like any process, there are a set of steps that everyone takes – we all know of Kubler-Ross’ Five Stages of Grief, and while this is not necessarily the most coherent guide on how to grieve, it is one of the most meaningful, because instead of presenting it in neat compartments of despair, Snyder demonstrates the disorganized, heartwrenching and almost self-destructive nature of grief, and how unpredictable it is. There is more to mourning a loved one that sadness – there’s confusion, erratic behaviour and irrational thoughts, and as demonstrated here, it can often manifest in unexpected ways, all of which may appear arbitrary to outsiders, but anyone who has lost someone will tell you that the process of healing takes many forms, none of them being prescribed, all of them being relevant and appropriate.

Of course, To Dust is about just as unexpected as the process of grieving, and what could have very easily been a straightforward drama about loss is rather a hilarious dark comedy that takes a very unconventional look at the mourning period. Taking his cue from some of the strangest comedies ever put on film, Synder delivers a work that is the very epitome of pitch-black absurdism, a strange existential comedy that not only acknowledges the controversial content that can be found in such a story, but openly embraces it, always opting for the offence rather than the route of sensitivity. There isn’t any way to deny it: To Dust is as far from subtle as a film can get. It may be a beautifully-composed tale of grieving, and it certainly doesn’t intend to offend, but rather it attempts to be provocative and to find the meaning in absurdity. This is clearly a film made to be purposefully bleak, but by someone with an optimistic perspective, which makes for an oddly captivating experience. This is a profoundly human film, delivered as a misanthropic dark comedy, where its immense soulfulness is concealed by boundaries of existential despair and nihilistic sarcasm. There’s just something about this approach that makes To Dust so gripping – to be able to not only find comedy, but also optimistic hope, in something like death is not a small feat, which is precisely why this film is so compelling.

Moreover, the quality that makes To Dust even more poignant is the two lead performances. Géza Röhrig made an enormous impact with his performance in the groundbreaking Son of Saul, and while that film was suitably influential, very few ever thought Röhrig would actually become a well-known actor outside of his brilliant work in that film. He was, at that point, some odd combination of punk rock singer, beat poet and kindergarten teacher who was the epitome of a truly astonishing discovery with his appearance in that film. A performance that appeared to be nothing more than a one-time sensation actually turned out to be the start for what is shaping up to be a remarkable career, with Röhrig venturing across the pond to star in this independent comedy that makes good use of his unique talents, which don’t go to waste in this film. A bitterly funny but endlessly meaningful portrayal of a man in crisis, his performance as Schmuel is amongst the year’s best – brimming with empathy and honesty, his natural expressivity is utilized to its full potential, with the actor giving a truly astounding depiction of a man who is going through a difficult period. Röhrig shares the film with Matthew Broderick, the former teen idol who has now become one of the most consistently great character actors of his generation. As the socially-awkward college professor who has lost any semblance of passion in both his personal and professional life, Broderick is terrific. He has a unique capability to play such a droll character with such conviction, as well as finding pathos in what is nothing more than an unlikable curmudgeon. The two actors have terrific chemistry and do exceptionally well in realizing the film’s more complex themes, which makes for a pair of fun performances that are amongst the year’s most surprisingly great.

To Dust is a small but memorable film, and the precise kind that passes by without any fanfare, and unfortunately does struggle to earn the acclaim or wide viewership it deserves. Yet, those who do come across it are suitably moved by the powerful storytelling and the potent use of dark comedy, not as a way of making light of a serious issue, but rather to comment on the absurdity of life, and how we go through it believing certain things by virtue of being told they’re true. This is a gloriously funny work, but one that makes good use of its bleak outlook enough. You won’t be blamed for having a minor existential crisis after watching To Dust, because beneath its very odd storyline, there is a pulsating sense of metaphysical wonder – and anyone who is not moved by the final part of this film, where the protagonist finally receives the closure he has been searching for over the entirety of the film, needs to consider if they too aren’t decomposing themselves. Funny, biting and certainly very moving when it needs to be, To Dust benefits from two astonishing leading performances (with Géza Röhrig specifically proving himself to be someone of astounding talent, and who I hope continues to ascend, because he is a gifted and unique actor) and a general empathy to the subject matter that is just astonishing – beautifully-composed and with a poignant sense of sensitivity to a common but difficult issue. This really is a gem of a film, and should you get the chance, seek it out and devour it, because this is truly a special piece of dark comedy that deserves every bit of love it can possibly get because it really is just that good.