Director: Sterre Rutten
Writer: Sterre Rutten & Laila Tobi
Cast: Laila Tobi
Running time: 4mins
I have said before that not every film needs to make a subversive point, or have social and historical importance to impress me. Despite arguably playing it safe from a thematic standpoint, director Sterre Rutten’s undeniably sweet-hearted offering Knor still manages to perform well on many other fronts.
The semi-biographical story – co-written by star Laila Tobi, playing herself – follows a young woman who has crossed over into adulthood. That is a stressful time for a lot of people, where they feel pressure to abandon all traces of their earlier identity, and to visibly commit to being a grown-up. But for a generation finding that living without training wheels is conspicuously harder than when their parents went through a similar shift, seeking comfort in nostalgia has become a necessary survival skill.
When Laila introduces herself (in a third person voice-over), she tells us she rides a red motor cycle, wears a leather jacket, and works in a bar. There is something of a picture-book about the opening – the soft intonation, the gentle repetition, the accompanying of each statement with a bright, clearly-framed image to illustrate it – all lulling us into a sense we are settling in for a bedtime story. At the same time, Laila’s description of herself is something reminiscent of a child trying to imagine what adult life might mean – and this gives us a vague idea of what is coming, before the titular Knor is even introduced.
Knor is an extremely worn out cuddly toy – or knuffel,in Dutch – modelled on Walt Disney’s interpretation of Piglet, from Winnie the Pooh. (In the Netherlands, this character is known as Knorretje – but presumably, shortening the name in the title helps work around copyright issues.) Knor has been loved half-to-death; over decades of snuggling, play sessions and bath-times, their bright material has dulled to a muted pink, while both eyes are now resolutely crushed behind an upturned snout.
A symbol of Laila’s early life – and the times she felt peace and security during a loving childhood – Knor remains a fixture in her daily routines, as much as some people might sneer at the idea. Normative expectations would suggest that Laila should have banished the childish fancy of a cuddly companion years ago – something which a shot of her bashfully tucking Knor under her pillow before inviting a guest into her apartment plays up to.
But just as she alludes to this, Laila asks the more judgemental among us if we are really ever too old for a “knuffel” (a phrase which works best in Dutch, as the word also doubles to mean ‘hug’). The world is a hostile place, especially to young adults trying to find their place in it – as along with the economic turbulence, threats of war previous generations lived with, now have to routinely contend with nonsense claims their labour can easily be replaced by AI. Is leaning on happier memories to get through those bruising encounters something we should shame them for?
As was the case in Ties Through Taste, Knor touches on the emotional security blankets we all know, that stay with us through our lives. They not only remind us of the years before we had to worry about rent, or food budgets, or road tax; but stoke warm memories of our loved ones who dressed our wounds, or tucked us in at bedtime, gave us a nourishing meal or a cute new toy – the moments we were lucky enough to have someone else in our corner, willing to fight for us.
For me, there is a small issue with connecting this to something belonging to Disney (a company which has actively made life less humane for adults throughout the last century, from union-busting to using the small print in a Disney+ trial to try and dodge a wrongful death lawsuit). Seeing the idea of comforting, cultural safe-spaces in connection to this particular stuffed pig sticks in my craw for that reason – even though I had a cuddly toy of Simba from The Lion King to accompany me through my own childhood bedtimes – and even though that might not be the fault of the filmmakers, I can’t help it, that’s the adult I have become.
Even if we do give the benefit of the doubt over connections to The House of Mouse, it’s hard not to feel the portrayal of the trials of adulthood are a little meek and mild. Rutten and Tobi’s script shies away from giving us a more awkward and upsetting confrontation over Knor’s presence in Laila’s life (it might have come if whoever she had invited to her house ever made it to the bedroom), which could have established some emotional stakes, and presented a different perspective that is only ever hinted at.
At the same time, in a film which was longer than the brief four minutes, I would expect something more on what the manifestation of a kind of permanent childhood in so many of us now. Certainly, adults have always carried some connections to toys out of childhood, but increasingly we build our personalities around them – especially when they are connected to monolithic cultural properties.
From Disney-brand Winnie the Pooh, to Star Wars or (unfortunately) Harry Potter, it seems many of us have reached adulthood, only to find there is nothing for us here – living independently (even renting, let alone owning a home) has become impossible outside a certain social caste. The old jobs we were promised when we were funnelled into university either don’t exist, or remain inhabited by an older workforce contending with relentlessly rising retirement ages. Having kids with a shrinking social security system is a nightmare; more affordable landlords usually ban pets; and houseplant prices have boomed – so what can we care for, beyond our old stuffed animals?
In this context, it might be right to explore the warm and helpful aspect of keeping in touch with our inner-children – but at some point, we also need to discuss how and why things from our childhood are now supplanting the aspects of adulthood we might actually have looked forward to. As I said, though, in this case, the omission of a darker world is forgivable – especially as it might upset the balance of the wider edit, and the wonderful make-up of the imagery on display.
As a director and editor, Rutten has demonstrated a talent for piecing together short snippets of video, and stitching them into a wholesome, emotionally touching narrative. She makes excellent use of director of photography Jonathan ten Broeke’s playful film fragments (including the best framing of a scene through a washing machine door since Dual) – bursting with a colourful, grainy, nostalgic life of their own. And in the end, from top to bottom, the production all ties back to fostering that same feeling in the audience; in a cold situation it presents us with a warm knuffel.
Whether or not I might have liked a little more complexity here, this short-but-sweet production does exactly what it set out to. It makes a valid point that we should nurture our inner-child into adulthood, and defends cultural nostalgia as a heart in a heartless world. Unless the world suddenly and miraculously changes for the better, I don’t have any interest in trashing that.