Adi42

Eddington is the fourth film by Ari Aster, arriving on the heels of his disastrous Beau Is Afraid. Unfortunately, it repeats many of the same mistakes. While it is marginally better, mainly because, although the writing is still overstuffed and unfocused that tries to tackle too much, it at least avoids the surreal, scattershot indulgences that ruined Beau Is Afraid.

The core issue in this western is the writing, which is too incoherent and desperate to comment on too many issues at once. Few films can successfully balance that kind of ambition, and Eddington is not one of them. The film opens promisingly with a striking scene featuring a deranged man howling nonsense, ending with the reveal of Eddington, the city's name. But the momentum quickly dies. The story splinters into two disconnected halves, first a COVID-era commentary, then an abrupt descent into chaotic violence, which completely undermines any political point the film was trying to make. A film about the collective psychosis of COVID could have been a goldmine of unexplored ideas.

Civil War had a clearer perspective, and even though that film was criticized for saying little about the current political climate, it still presented at least one central theme, the importance and pitfalls of journalism. Eddington, by contrast, is a disjointed mess.

Emma Stone and Austin Butler are completely wasted. Their entire subplot could be excised without changing the story. Why burn money on A-lister side characters when your last film flopped so badly? Casting them would make sense if their roles were memorable, but instead, they're left with nothing to do.

It's also worth noting that both Eddington and Beau Is Afraid were produced by Aster himself, unlike his masterpiece Hereditary and the strong follow-up Midsommar. He should return to the tight, focused writing of those earlier works and concentrate on being a writer-director, instead of trying to do everything under the sun with each new project.

Thunderbolts is one of the few mature-themed attempts the MCU has made, aiming for something grittier and more serious than its usual output. Thankfully, it's mostly devoid of the overused, cringe-inducing MCU humor. Some light moments remain, which are tolerable.

The real issue lies in the film's utter lack of characterization and emotional depth. Told largely from Yelena's perspective, we get little actual insight into her arc. Even watching Black Widow, I have completely forgotten her story except for some surface-level characterizations. There's no emotional grounding. Just surface-level motivations. Julia Louis-Dreyfus gave an especially bad performance. Her acting feels like she wandered in from a completely different movie. It's hard to tell if she didn't read the script, or if the writers just didn't care to give her anything resembling a coherent role. Either way, she doesn't belong here. The only good performances are from Wyatt Russell{fake Captain America} and David Harbour{Yelena's dad}.

Tonally, the film is a mess. It wants to tackle serious psychological themes. The villain suffers from a severe split personality disorder, and the resolution hinges on emotional support rather than physical confrontation. But with characters so underdeveloped, the climax feels unearned and hollow. A psychological showdown only works if we care about the people involved, and here, we don't.

This was a heavy lifting handled very poorly, it could have been a narrative changer, but will be forgotten among most of the MCU slop they have pumped out since Endgame.

A three-character story centered on a creatively blocked, soon-to-be-divorced writer who encounters a "retired" serial killer sounds like a killer concept, on paper. Unfortunately, this film squanders that premise with lackluster execution and a frustrating tonal imbalance.

Steve Buscemi and Britt Lower are the film's saving grace, doing their best to carry an off-kilter black comedy that never commits to being either dark enough or funny enough. The premise begs for something wild and twisted, but what we get feels muted and safe. The score stands out for its uniqueness.

The character of Kollmick (Buscemi) is woefully underdeveloped. We learn almost nothing about his past, and his interactions with the writer make no sense. Meanwhile, John Magaro's portrayal of Keane, the meek, indecisive writer, is not convincing.

The movie stumbles toward an anticlimactic ending that fails to resolve the story and ends on an unearned cliffhanger-clearly intentional, but entirely pointless.

This film unavoidably draws comparisons to Seven Psychopaths, watch it instead.