Marigold

A thrilling, focused start revolving around the simple premise of a random passer-by drawn into the world of police brutality, a wonderful build-up culminating with a scene of restarting a modem...and then a somewhat tentative second half, which makes an attempt at more complex motivations and an elaborate conspiracy formula...and Saulnier’s cohesiveness slackens a bit and the slow-burn film suddenly becomes rather “burn too slow”. The screenplay relies more on coincidences and mechanisms that are supposed to connect the individual motifs, but that feeling of simple genre satisfaction is already long gone. In any case, Aaron Pierre is a revelation. Really, Rambo meets Reacher. Give him a franchise. Beware of guys who don’t blink. A strong three stars, weaker four.

Ali Abbasi does some solid directing work when he tells Trump’s story in a stylised way with a variable period patina and doesn’t allow himself to be tempted by the potential for an exceedingly glamorous spectacle about the (morally) poor rich. He has self-assured actors and good rhythm in fragments, but Gabriel Sherman’s screenplay is really very superficial and cautiously skims over situations. The film thus lacks a greater catch beyond summarising facts and conjectures that are already generally known. Fortunately, the film has a great dominant level with the character of Roy Cohn, uncompromisingly portrayed by Jeremy Strong, who maniacally immerses himself in the role. Sebastian Stan gets the job done, but he really doesn’t stand much of a chance against the portrait of the man who created the pragmatic monster, who in turn devours his creator and takes only the worst from him. Cohn’s swan song is touching and devastating, which stands out in a film that is otherwise “just” a decent and non-tabloidish biopic.

An embargo should be imposed on the genre of “wealthy intellectuals die with dignity and thus reconcile us with the majesty of death”, but I understand that it’s nice watch and is good for garnering awards. Pedro Almodóvar, whom I respect for his ability to balance pathos with an ironic Hispanic flair, goes all in on this. The camera paints, Julianne Moore and Tilda Swinton theatrically deliver their dialogue and monologues, from which it seems that Pedro is not at home in English and his distinctive melodramatic tone is suddenly decorative and flat. Yes, euthanasia is an important topic, but I really have no idea what symbolic quotes from Joyce and Hopper are supposed to bring to it. I understand that this film is a safe space where everything seems intellectually comprehensible. However, it is cheap creative license. Not even the games with hysteria and affection are anything that would save this essay on dying from the dead calm.