Stefan and Andreas have the same workplace (an orchestra), circle of friends (orchestra musicians), and bed. They harvest herbs and fruits from their garden and walk around mostly naked in their home. A middle-class paradise: a life with soft piano, between Schubert, Ikea, steaming coffee, and the moody purrs of Moses the tomcat, who always nuzzles between them. When a cheesy pop song is playing at their house party the first dissonant note gets mixed in with their harmonious routine. But a sudden violent eruption causes a dramatic shift and the domestic idyll changes into a scenario filled with threat, strangeness, and grief.
It doesn’t come off as a cheap shock in this fascinating relationship drama from Händl Klaus nor is it a turning point into a satire about bourgeois gay life models. He takes Stefan and Andreas, their love, and their grief too seriously for that. KATER is always close to its characters, observing the physicality of both men with curiosity and exactness, which you usually only see in “New Wave Queer Cinema” (WEEKEND, KEEP THE LIGHTS ON) which the filmmaker from Tyrol studied very well. All attempts to cement the fissure with familiar means are moving: Stefan giving the orchestra colleagues homemade jam, the fragile crystalline glasses taken out of the dishwasher, Stefan moving to an inflatable camping mat on his own. They are the helpless household remedies against the terrible question both lovers suddenly ask themselves: “who are you?”

Jan Künemund

Translation: Elinor Lewy