Im Pan-tastic

Kabru knows of the Touden siblings because (he's a little bit of a stalker-) he is keeping an eye on all the relevant parties in events developing on the island, in order to be able to guide them to his preferred outcome. This includes adventurers because they are the ones actually exploring the dungeon! He's well aware that something as minor as internal tensions between party members could be key to the historical events that are developing. (He would love the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.)

His desired outcome is that whatever the rewards are of breaking the dungeon's curse, whether that's kingship or the ancient elven secrets of dungeons, are claimed by:

A) a short lived person

B) Someone who will be a good, effective leader and/or use those secrets and the power they carry wisely, with foresight, and to establish a political bloc for short lived people.

The person he can best trust to do this is, of course, himself. But due to his PTSD regarding dungeons and monsters, he's not able to develop the necessary skills to conquer the dungeon. Once he realises this, he starts looking for someone else who he can support to that end.

But most of the adventurers don't have any intentions of conquering the dungeon, don't have the skills, or are unsuitable in other ways. In fact, it seems like some potentially suitable people are the Toudens. There are a lot of good rumours about them going around - they actually seem to have a very positive reputation! That's what Kabru means when he says "unmask".

So when Kabru is observing something like them giving money to an old comrade from their gold-peeling days, he doesn't consider it a problem because "they're giving money to this person who doesn't actually need it" or because they must have some dark secret if they act superficially nice. I think he actually understands this situation and what it implies about Laios (in particular) perfectly well.

Laios and Falin gave money to an old comrade who got injured and couldn't work. That person then healed up but kept taking their money. Then he used the money to start smuggling illicit goods to the island.

The key is that for Kabru, the problem here is the same as with the corpse retrievers - people using the dungeon's resources to fuel dangerous, selfish, or violent pursuits cause problems for the island, attract more criminals and people with motives other than breaking the curse, and increase the chances of the whole situation ending in tragedy.

Kabru is willing to work with the Shadow Lord of the island if it gets him to his goal - he isn't scrupulous - but the criminal element of the island increasing is something he sees as a major issue.

Also, when you're evaluating someone as a candidate for power, riches, secrets, potentially kingship - then being curious about how the money you give to people is going to be used is kind of a relevant trait!

Interpersonally, Kabru's actually very easygoing - I mean, Mickbell isn't exactly an upstanding guy, is he! But Kabru likes him and they get along well. These traits wouldn't be a problem at all in a friend, or a comrade, or someone Kabru was confident he could use. But he can't get a handle on Laios, and Laios is someone who has the potential to be a major player!

On Laios' end, this is the same as with the marriage seeker who joined their party. She kept asking for things and he gave them to her, because he tries to be nice to others. He even gives her money! It's the exact same thing.

That's fine, but it became a problem because he basically wasn't interested in her motives, didn't notice she was trying to manipulate him, and it also didn't occur to him that the other party members would notice or be affected. We can assume the situation with the gold peeler is the same. When Kabru says that "It's not that they're bad people, they just aren't interested in humans," he isn't wrong.

The extent to which this is true of Laios is linked to his autism imo, (because it isn't just disinterest - he genuinely isn't able to notice nonverbal cues that people are lying to him or have ulterior motives) but to a greater or lesser extent I think it's a very common trait. Most people aren't actually that interested in other people who aren't close to them. Kabru is the weird one here. It isn't an issue except as a leader - which is why we see an immediate comparison to the Island's Lord, because that's how Kabru is evaluating them.

And disinterest in/lack of ability with people to the extent Laios exhibits it, it does, actually, make him a worse leader... it's just that as we see in the story, people can help him out. The rest of the party tell him the marriage seeker is taking advantage of him so he tells her he can't give her special treatment anymore. They're pissed and it's a crisis point - he couldn't have recovered their trust without Marcille and Falin - but that's exactly the point. With Marcille and Falin, he was able to recover their trust.

And he has other good traits that make up for it, such as his intelligence, strategic knowledge, open-mindedness and sense of fairplay.

Kabru doesn't disqualify Laios as a candidate based on what he sees about him from afar, though - he still tries very hard to get close to him, obviously hoping that if he manages he can steer Laios to defeat the dungeon and make up for his lack of people-skills in the aftermath. (Which... he does eventually achieve that goal!) He completely fails until the events of the story, so... definitely I think "They just aren't interested in humans" could also partially be a stung reaction to Laios' complete disinterest in him.

Anyway, that's my read on what exactly Kabru's "issue" with Laios is. Obviously, once he does find out what Laios' true nature is like - about his love for monsters - he develops an entirely new set of fears about Laios' priorities. But since Laios kept that a secret until the start of the story, he has no idea of that yet.

Given all that, I think it's interesting that he says that he doesn't think that the Toudens are suitable to defeat the dungeon, and that he's hoping they'll turn out to be the thieves. As some of his few potential candidates, people who he thinks may play a big role in the island's future, you'd think he'd hope they would be good people!

I suppose it's better, in his eyes, because it means that he's involved in something "interesting". They haven't just had their stuff stolen by regular criminals (boring, puts them further away from his goal) - they've been caught up in the beginning stages of "a historic event". The desperate and dwindling group forgetting morals in their quest to retrieve their lost comrade probably appeals to his sense of melodrama. Because he also just... loves drama.

Despite it being "uglier than anything he was expecting", he still pursues Laios as the person he wants to conquer the dungeon pretty much as soon as it becomes clear that he won't be able to do it himself and they are out of time. That's because... well, to be fair, there aren't any other options. And he fits standard A: he's short-lived!

and Kabru still hopes he can fit standard B, too, and be persuaded to use the power he wins for good. No matter how many nightmares he has about Laios, or whether he thinks about killing him. He doubts him, but ultimately he puts his faith in him and seems happy after the manga's ending that he made the right decision.

Exhibit A: The Touch

Step one is a base of good chemistry, but then we add in things like Jesper accidentally touching Klaus' broad chest and pulling away quickly (~43 min in):

But that's not the beginning and end of this sequence, otherwise it would simply read more platonic. See, when Jesper firsts lays his hands on Klaus, his eyes travel to his hands. And then he realizes what he's done and glances up at Klaus:

The shot lingers on this quiet moment between them, filled with nothing but touch. And if that was it, well, yeah you'd get people reading it as romantic, but it still could just be platonic as Jesper realizes he's breached the personal bubble of the man he thought was an axe murderer two nights ago. But something happens between Jesper realizing he fumbled over the touch barrier and him pulling away:

A POV shot. Through Jesper's eyes.

When we shift into Jesper's head, we're privy to a full reaction from Klaus. We don't know exactly what's going on in his head, but he's not angry. If anything, he looks quizzical. Part of this is because Jesper doth protest too much about how much he cares about toy delivery, and this mountain man is re-learning social interaction after decades of isolation.

But again, the movie pauses here. It's not a long, long shot, but it is about one second long. That doesn't seem like a lot, but you can fit quite a bit of information in one second of a movie. Furthermore, the entire sequence, from the initial touch to pulling away is a solid 5 seconds. The movie purposefully delays us here, on this moment, to make sure we see them interact in this way.

Let's play Swap the Genders for a second. If Jesper was, idk, Jespina, how would this interaction be different? Theoretically, it's the same actions and the same, surrounding implications of plot context. But we as an audience have been trained to read "boy and girl share brief, awkward touch" as foreshadowing for a romantic future. In all genres, not just romcoms and dramatic romances, though you bet your butt they're extremely deliberate in those. And with how long the movie lingers here, it would absolutely read as romantic if this were m/f.

But Wait There's More!

Exhibit B: Jesper, The Light

At about the 55 minute mark, we get another interesting sequence. By this point, we know that Klaus' store of toys is drying up, and he hasn't been keen on making more. Jesper, meanwhile, is still a few letters shy of being able to go home to luxury, so he gets an idea on how to convince Klaus to make more toys for Christmas.

We see Klaus out chopping wood when the magic wind we saw earlier in the film (that convinced him to go on the initial deliveries), leads him up to his workshop. Once there, he's greeting by a curtain obscuring part of the shop. A lantern within exudes soft, comforting golden light, and we see a silhouette moving.

The silhouette is feminine, from the look of hair pulled back, to the curvy spine, to the soft triangle of the lower body that implies a dress. We're to assume there is woman there, and as the sequence continues, we're led to assume this is a woman Klaus knows.

He starts to approach, a look of surprise on his face. Then we get a close-up that further betrays his want and concern and hope. This is all portrayed without words, by the way. It's just a series of well-executed shots and poignant music. It's an excellent example of how to raise tension via shots when you have a very stoic character. Klaus doesn't really move his face much. He doesn't mug to the camera like a desperate Let's Player to illustrate that he's having Complicated Emotions. Instead, the shot changes intensify. By the time Klaus is ready to see who's behind the curtain, so are we.

And after all that buildup, the feminine figure reaches out and flings the curtain away to reveal...

Twink Supreme.

Klaus is annoyed the silhouette wasn't who he thought it was and gets more annoyed the longer Jesper tries to pitch him on making toys for Christmas. Klaus tries to get him to stop, but he helps himself to the workshop and starts touching things he shouldn't. This culminates when Jesper yanks a sheet off a wall.

He reveals a very dusty fixture with a familiar-looking masculine woodcut, and a less familiar, but notable feminine one. And underneath their slot are completely empty ones. This is the first time the scene has been shunted into darkness since Klaus entered the workshop.

Klaus is horrified at this thing, even though we can surmise he made it himself. This is forbidden, even to him.

He orders Jesper to leave. Jesper obliges, and we follow him back to the post office where he meets up with absolute cinnamon roll Margú and finally decides to help her write a letter so she can get her own toy like the townies. Jesper goes to Alva for help and via the power of pop ballad montage, we see them get a little closer and end the sequence with the letter in hand.

Now, Jesper knows he can't ask Klaus for help making Margú her toy, so he sets off to make it himself despite not being qualified in the slightest. It's the thought that counts, right?

As the ballad ballads on, we get a crossfade from Jesper working by candlelight to Klaus still sitting and brooding in his dark workshop. A crossfade is a type of transition from scene to scene where one picture gradually fades into the next. As we fade from Jesper to Klaus, we get an incredible image:

Jesper is in the forbidden zone. His visage has replaced the dusty, hidden remnants that have been there so long. Moreover, once again, the movie heavily contrasts light and dark. Much like how the curtains obscuring Jesper earlier were the only light in the darkness of the workshop, now again is Jesper the beacon of warmth. A beacon that Klaus has turned away from, much like he did the tree carving before.

Now, I need y'all to put a pin in this. I swear I have a conclusion to this sequence, but I need to talk about something else first.

Exhibit C: The Porch Scene

Klaus eventually shows up to the post office and sees that Jesper made a mess of the woodworking for the gift. He starts fixing it, and the two head out into the night to the nearby Sámi camp/village to deliver Margú's toy. The ballad is still going, by the way, and it rises back up in lyrics and power as the young girl tests out her... snow-windsurfing board? It looks dope. Jesper seemingly for the first time understands the meaning of doing good deeds. Eventually, they return to Klaus' home, all excited from the escapade. Especially Jesper.

As they stable the reindeer, Klaus admits that it's been a long time since he's felt this way, and that "she" used to tease him when he got that doofy smile on his face. Who is "she," Jesper asks.

"My Lydia," he replies.

Klaus recounts how he and his wife found enjoyed their little mountain hideaway. But, he says, it wasn't going to be the two of them for long.

Light blossoms again as we flash back to a younger Klaus and his wife, excited to start their lives together, and very excited to start a family, a large one. At least seven children judging by the niches on the tree. Unfortunately for them, no children came. And then Lydia got sick. And then she was gone. He supposes he lost his way after she died, making birdhouse after birdhouse because she loved birds.

"Then," Klaus says, turning to gaze fondly at Jesper, "you showed up."

He says that he never thought he'd feel this again--"this" of course being the joy of seeing children's faces when they got a new toy he worked hard on. No, "this" doesn't refer to romance, but again, if Jesper were Jespina, we would absolutely be expected to take this as, if not foreshadowing, then barely-subtextual confirmation that there are romantic feelings somewhere in the mix.

But that's not just looking too hard through a queer lens at this interaction. Remember that pin from the previous section? Pull it out and let's discuss. See, the movie, through film language alone, equates Jesper to Lydia.

We were expected to believe the silhouette from earlier was a woman's. A woman who we understood to be important to Klaus. Now, we know that she wasn't just important, he loved her, was married to her. To see her silhouette in Jesper's positions the two as equals if they can so easily be mistaken for each other. Essentially, something about Jesper reminded Klaus of Lydia.

But of course, the movie didn't do this just once.

The movie equates Jesper to Lydia when it crossfades between the post office and the workshop during the breakup sequence. I mentioned that Jesper is the light in the darkness here, but superimposing him over something so important and devastating to Klaus places him squarely within the field of those feelings as well. And once we learn that the carved tree was Klaus and Lydia's wish for family, suddenly Jesper being there in the frame puts him as family.

Now, could you read this as just platonic "found family?" Yeah, absolutely, and the film does a great job doing that later on when the Sámi enter the workshop. But I argue that the movie has gone out of its way several times to specifically equate Jesper and Lydia. These two people are both lights in the darkness for Klaus. They tease him good-naturedly. But most importantly, the porch scene recontextualizes a much earlier scene from being merely mysterious to Lydia outright endorsing Jesper's presence in Klaus' life.

Back around the 30 minute mark, Jesper approached Klaus after a successful day of getting the kids to write letters for toys. He implores Klaus to give away his myriad of toys that're just collecting dust in the workshop. Klaus is seemingly less than impressed, until a strange wind blows in. We see this odd wind several times throughout the movie, and Klaus seems to understand what it wants, despite it not speaking. During the porch scene, we learn that he believes the strange wind is Lydia's spirit keeping him company and giving him a nudge in the right direction if he needs it. At the end of the movie, the wind tells him it's time to let go and to move on. At the point where Jesper is trying to persuade Klaus to do deliveries...

The strange wind circles him in a halo, forcing Klaus to pay attention. The wind's approval--Lydia's approval--is what makes Klaus decide to help deliver the toys beyond the first one.

Essentially, not only does the movie equate Jesper to Lydia through imposing their likenesses over each other and through similar light/dark contrasts, it has her appear in the beginning and straight-up endorse Jesper's entry into Klaus' life.

Exhibit D: "Ah, Young Love!"

This next section is not so much about the homoeroticism as is it why, despite my love for Alva, her canonical romantic entanglement with Jesper pales in comparison to the accidental (?) homoeroticism of Jesper and Klaus.

There's a line that the boatman says about 39 minutes into the film after Alva has a very public, very angry confrontation with Jesper. At this point, the kids are very reward-driven, attending the school-turned-fish shop purely so they can learn to write so they can send a letter so they can get a toy. Alva yells at Jesper about how the violent, constantly feuding families won't stand for their children attending school together. She views his sending the kids to her as a threat to her ability to save up enough money to get away from Smeerensburg forever and pursue her dreams somewhere she'll be useful and appreciated.

After Alva leaves, the smug trickstery boatman says:

"Ah! Young love."

I have always found this line incredibly grating because it's a classic example of Telling rather than Showing. Now, people in recent years have pushed back against that old adage, but there are times you want to show something to the audience rather than just stating it in a straightforward manner. Romantic relationships, for one thing.

As I mentioned at the top of this post, this is a buddy movie between Jesper the Postman and Klaus the future Santa Claus. They are the main characters of the film. Both of them need to carry this movie equally, and the best way to do that is to make sure they have excellent chemistry with each other. The film succeeds at this, and then some.

Alva, on the other hand, is not the main character. She is a major supporting character, and I think the movie would be lesser if she were absent, but her and Jesper's romantic relationship was always doomed to be Told rather than Shown. Because theirs is not the most important relationship in the movie.

I think the film could have done better about this, though. Getting rid of that young love line, for one thing. It's the sort of line you have someone say in the hopes that you can sneak in some romantic foreshadowing for the canonical couple. Unfortunately, it's about as subtle as a brick to the face.

The film seems to be going for a Bad First Impressions/Enemies-ish to Lovers thing with Jesper and Alva, but it really falls flat. They just don't spend enough time with each other for me to believe they're falling in love. Not to say they don't have cute moments. The montage where they help Margú write her letter is really nice, and the film shows Alva scooting closer and closer to Jesper as they hang out more and get to know each other. However, it's a montage, one with a song covering the bits of dialogue we get from them as they work. If the movie wanted to make me believe that Alva and Jesper had as much, if not more, chemistry together than Jesper and Klaus, then they probably should have changed the scene to be less focused on the montage and more focused on them playfully bantering back and forth.

But again, I think the relationship was doomed from the start, purely because Alva is not a main character. They probably would have had to make Jesper the eventual Santa Claus and nix Klaus in order to give Alva the proper amount of room.

(However, I think that would have ended up making the movie a bit too much like Rankin-Bass' stop-motion Santa Claus is Comin' to Town. Think about it: that special starts with a postman narrating about letters; it emphasizes that the question "Why do people write letters to Santa?" will be explored and answered; the main setting is a depressing, grungy town headed by a cartoonishly evil leader; there's a jaded ginger-haired schoolteacher who learns to loosen up and love life again, etc.)

I wish things had been different with Alva, or maybe that they had been allowed a longer runtime to really sell the relationship. As it is, it's fine. It works for what it is. But Jesper and Klaus' relationship is simply deeper, more subtle, and more meaningful.

Conclusion

Thank you for coming to my post about why Klaus is an extremely gay movie despite not being a gay movie. I wish I could wrap this up more academically, but I've made my thesis obvious and I have work at 7:30am tomorrow.