“We need to free each other’s hearts.”
You ever have a movie just really piss you off? One of those movies that just makes you completely and thoroughly angry that it even exists? Director Ari Aster’s fourth movie, Eddington, did just that for me. On three separate occasions during the film’s indulgent two and a half hour running time, I thought about just leaving the theater. Ultimately, I didn’t leave, because I trusted that the film was going somewhere and its destination would make the journey worthwhile. I should’ve listened to that voice in my head telling me to get out while I still could.
I recently saw 28 Years Later with a dear old friend and while I am still in the process of figuring out what I thought about that movie, Andrew had no problem voicing his exceedingly negative opinion on the film before it had ended. A group of rowdy North Carolina mountain teens were making life in that theater miserable to begin with, but I remember wishing I had as visceral a reaction. Well, three weeks later, I finally had that excruciating feeling in a movie theater. Hooray?
I will admit it, I was dreading Eddington. Knowing not much more than that it was set during the height of the pandemic in the summer of 2020, I worried we didn’t have quite enough perspective on that moment yet. While I often revel in being right, I want filmmakers like Aster to prove me wrong, not to validate my worst fears.
In a six month span between late 2005 and mid-2006, the world was blessed with Steven Spielberg’s Munich and Paul Greengrass’ United 93, two films dealing with tremendously tragic events. Munich had the benefit of three decades’ worth of perspective on the events it portrayed, earning a bone chilling ending set in the literal shadow of the World Trade Center in late 1970s New York City. United 93, while undeniably an emotionally wrenching film, was more of a cathartic moment for a country still reeling from that day in September five years earlier than it was a film with any decent amount of perspective on its events.
Eddington is trying to be Munich but it barely has the perspective of United 93, and can therefore be nothing more than a rabble-rousing agitator in a still unsettled landscape. All that hope I felt coming out of Superman last week has been drained by a film downright giddy about wallowing in the despair of the last few years. I happily laughed at horrific things in other Aster films because they were set in worlds just slightly removed from our own. For my money, there’s nothing funny about the downfall of society over the last five years.
In May 2020, at peak pandemic, Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix, at peak insufferability) is the sheriff of the titular small New Mexico town. Following a series of confrontations over mask mandates, Cross launches a campaign to challenge current mayor Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal, at peak smarmy charm) in the upcoming election. Cross does this without consulting his home-bound wife Louise (Emma Stone, at peak overqualified)—who was once in a relationship with Garcia—leading to turmoil in an already tumultuous household.
Louise’s mother Dawn (Deirdre O’Connell, at peak intentionally dislikable) has not only overstayed her pre-COVID visit, she’s fallen down a Q-Anon-tinged conspiracy rabbit hole. Dawn is also enabling Louise’s infatuation with charismatic online cult leader Vernon Jefferson Peak (Austin Butler, at peak confused about the size of his role).
Throw all of this into a blender with Black Lives Matter protests in town, a black deputy (Micheal Ward) questioning the integrity of his co-workers, an opportunist teen (Cameron Mann) who will take whatever political stance he thinks will help him get laid, and also a vagrant (Clifton Collins, Jr.) wandering around town causing mayhem.
And this isn’t even the half of it, there’s also Garcia’s horny teenage son (Matt Gomez Hidaka) who constantly breaks social distancing protocols to party, a Pueblo police officer (William Belleau) investigating a murder that technically occurred on Pueblo land, a well funded militia of ANTIFA soldiers traveling by private jet, and so god damned much more.
Problem number one is telling this story from Joe Cross’ point of view. Joaquin Phoenix is quickly becoming the Johnny Depp to Ari Aster’s Tim Burton. I want as much distance placed between these two as possible. The rest of the cast does as Aster wanted them to do, and he’s getting to a point where the caliber of people who want to work with him should make them demand more substantial roles.
Problem two, remember when I spent four paragraphs laying out just the basics of the plot? Yeah, this movie casts such a wide net, it’s no longer making its title town a microcosm study of these events. Eddington thinks it’s got a bird’s eye view of the last five years, having spent four of those years holed up making the damn thing.
I’m sure it says much more about me than it does about the filmmaker that I wish Eddington didn’t traffic in bad faith “both sides are bad” equivocations. Both sides may have bad actors, but only one side is currently cultivating hate, sowing seeds of division, and delighting in the misery of others. The folks hoping for a world not dictated by those mandates benefits nothing from being asked to empathize with these misguided and wayward souls who were, are, and always will be misled by charismatic charlatans. And frankly, it’s embarrassing that any filmmaker in 2025 would even want to present both sides of the issues presented in the film.
People reading this are also bound to say that I brought in my own predispositions about these situations with me into the theater… good luck not doing likewise. This film hasn’t earned the value of perspective yet, it’s peddling that same “both sides do it” nonsense that South Park has cornered the market on in the last fifteen years. Punching down is never funny, sorry guys, and Eddington is pandering to this non-existent swing viewer, one who hasn’t yet taken a stance on the whole mismanagement of the pandemic.
This movie is the first movie in a very long time that made me long to say, “Get fucked” when the credits began rolling. I’m a polite man living in a polite society, so I spared the residents of Oak Park, Illinois this gut reaction. But the more time I spend away from this film, the more it makes me seethe over its utter irresponsibility as a piece of cinema.
Andrew hated 28 Years Later because it was slow and there weren’t a ton of zombie hordes massacring people. I get that, he wasn’t there for the social commentary. An audience member in July 2025 can’t help but be there for the social commentary when they walk into Eddington, and I can’t express adequately enough how much I hated this movie for bringing absolutely nothing to an already muddled and aggravating conversation.
Header image via IMDb