Mank

Mank certainly doesn't hide its Oscar ambitions and at the same time represents one among a number of films where (academic) form rolls over (audience-friendly) content. The black-and-white visuals, the fading blackouts, the vintage opening credits and the premise of the film take the viewer back to the golden era of Hollywood, a time of big studios, bright stars and screenwriting teams and solitaires. David Fincher's Mank is a skillfully made biopic, but for most of its running time it lacks any dramatic or deeper scene – it wasn't until near the end, when Mank's pours out of his heart while watching Citizen Kane, that I felt stronger emotions. A promising film in terms of acting and themes, but one that limps along on a lackluster execution. (17/04/2021)

Like Nolan, Finch this year has taken on an overwrought variation of his fetish beyond the parameters of viewer-friendly cinema. Mank is his Grand Hollywood Retro-Spectacle. Or rather his now-deceased dad, who was born during the period depicted and whose screenplay was sitting in David’s drawer, waiting for the benevolent Netflix. The enchantment of the visionary entrepreneurialism of the Hollywood studio bosses, high-society parties and debates in the opulent halls of luxury mansions, and an intimate portrait of a gifted screenwriter who was more of an outsider alcoholic despite his eccentricity and constant presence in the circles of kindred professionals. Though all of this may sound wonderful and appealing (and it’s also incredibly authentically executed cinematically), the result is problematic. Fincher interweaves the film’s world with the politics of the given setting and period, which viewers aren’t interested in, jumping around in time and between characters that he says little or nothing about and, in the dishevelled narrative, only barely manages to concentrate on the motivations of the main character, whom the whole film is supposed to be about. It is wonderfully entertaining in some individual aspects (a visit to the studios and an exterior set) and evokes a mature creative cleverness, but elsewhere it is boring with its pointlessness and empty dialogue. The character of William Hearst (Charles Dance), who was supposedly Mank’s inspiration for writing Citizen Kane, is sidelined here and no intellectual parallel is drawn between Welles’s and Fincher’s films. The moods, poses and opinions that are stuffed into this evidently artistically ambitious work will certainly please a few academics, historians, film buffs and political scientists all rolled into one, but I prefer the more narratively refined and stimulating pieces in this mold – whether the cynically intellectual (Altman’s The Player) or simply heartfelt (Burton’s Ed Wood). Of the actors, Arliss Howard comes closest to earning an Oscar for his excellent portrayal of L.B. Mayer. The walk around MGM with his emotive monologue is one of the movie scenes of the year. “This is the business where the buyer gets nothing for his money but a memory. What he bought still belongs to the man who sold it. That’s the real magic of the movies.” (12/12/2020)

A sea of name dropping, perfectly executed visuals, but emotionally speaking, Mank only barely whispered to me here and there, rather than speaking to me coherently. It is the completion of a homework assignment for me and David Fincher, saved from downfall primarily by its unintentional thematic relevance. (23/04/2021)

"WhY dOEsN’t FiNCher MaKe aNoTHeR Se7en?!?§" the movie. A work hardly applicable in a non-American environment (god, just the idea that it has Czech dubbing or subtitles in the usual Netflix quality), for which one can't be mad at Jarmila Střížkova here for absolutely not knowing where its head is at. In our confines, then, it's mainly a problem that among the mainstream cashless-market critics, there is no one who has the will to interpret and articulate the film to the local viewer, used to boredly clicking through the endless Netflix offerings in his sweatpants on the couch to see if there is anything else capable of engaging him. We all laughed at the Spáčilová until we discovered that there never was a Spáčilová, it was always just us. The absence of Mank from theaters is one of the most unfortunate things to happen this year. (14/12/2020)

This year, David Fincher gave me an early Christmas present in the form of a 100% movie-lover experience, thanks to which I was lost for two hours in the Hollywood machinery and political jungle of the end of the 1930s and start of the 1940s. Jack Fincher's screenplay flows harmoniously like a poem and there are strong intense speeches from the characters that I haven't heard in a movie for a long time. Cult movie making maybe, but absolutely breathtaking and shot right from the heart! (27/12/2020)