Eddington Review: Modern-Day Western
Goes Off the Rails with a Whimper
CANNES FILM FESTIVAL - IN COMPETITION
Words by Alex Secilmis 17 May 2025
Goes Off the Rails with a Whimper
CANNES FILM FESTIVAL - IN COMPETITION
Words by Alex Secilmis 17 May 2025
May 2020 - In a socially distanced supermarket, Joaquin Phoenix squares off with Pedro Pascal while clutching a box of goldfish. The former plays an asthmatic sheriff who refuses to wear a mask, the latter a charismatic mayor who tries to enforce a mandate firmly but politely. With compelling small-town world-building and a zany exploration of masculinity, the early scene promises a slice of brash, off-kilter Americana. Unfortunately, this is not the film that we get.
The tragedy is that Eddington, the fourth feature film by Ari Aster, of Hereditary fame, sets off with a neat premise and sharply defined characters. After the supermarket squabble, Sheriff Joe Cross (Phoenix) decides to run against Mayor Ted Garcia (Pascal) on a campaign right out of the Trump playbook: anti-mask, pro-police, and entirely unsympathetic to the Black Lives Matter movement. While he won’t admit it, Joe is also motivated by Ted’s history with his wife, Louise (Emma Stone), who makes vaguely creepy dolls for a living and struggles with mental illness. As Joe gets wrapped up in a MAGA-flavoured campaign, he pushes Louise away and towards Vernon Jefferson Peak (Austin Butler), a charming yet zealous religious influencer who discusses pedophile rings.
Eddington’s first disappointment is its limp satire. Given that Aster’s first two features were wildly acclaimed horror films, initial reviews and trailer reactions have pedalled a phrase along the lines of “America’s political climate is the real horror”, and amused critics suggest the film smartly skewers that horror. Conversely, I find that the film is most interested in Joe Cross’ internal experience of a paranoid ecosystem, but, as a dark COVID comedy, Eddington falls flat. The TikTok cult leaders and self-centred social justice warriors entertain before the joke gets told too many times. Yet in all fairness, nothing can compare to a hilariously mawkish campaign ad that sees Pascal jubilantly play the piano in the street with a mask on.
Nonetheless, the cast is unilaterally on top form. Never one to turn in anything less than a wholly committed performance, Phoenix is gripping as an insecure, power-hungry officer, his manhood mocked by Daniel Pemberton and Bobby Krlic’s Western-tinged score with its ironically heroic horns. Pascal is magnetic in a more restrained role, his small-town charm upended by a mean streak, while Stone and Butler disappear into their kooky characters with aplomb. Had Aster been more interested in fleshing out the conflict between these players, the unconvincing social commentary could have been more than bearable. But the film’s greater sin is the underutilisation of its impressive cast.
It soon becomes clear that Eddington is confused about whether or not it's an ensemble piece. After the wonderful tension of the film’s beginning, inexplicably, Pascal practically disappears from the film. The many characters have an exciting outline, but Aster doesn’t colour them in. Instead, they become pawns in the slow unravelling of Joe’s ego. If I had wanted to see Joaquin Phoenix and Ari Aster studiously dissect fragile masculinity, I would have rather watched all three hours of Beau is Afraid.
“Come home, Ari,” I found myself thinking at the premiere. “Horror needs you.” Despite that somewhat selfish desire, I didn’t pursue the train of thought. Blending bitingly raw portraits of loneliness with jet-black humour, Aster’s brand of bleak comedy that shone in Beau and appears here in spurts is worth developing—even if I’m more intrigued by an evolution of Hereditary or Midsommar. Because ultimately, Eddington’s issue has nothing to do with genre, and everything to do with a meandering script that underfeeds its best elements.
The tragedy is that Eddington, the fourth feature film by Ari Aster, of Hereditary fame, sets off with a neat premise and sharply defined characters. After the supermarket squabble, Sheriff Joe Cross (Phoenix) decides to run against Mayor Ted Garcia (Pascal) on a campaign right out of the Trump playbook: anti-mask, pro-police, and entirely unsympathetic to the Black Lives Matter movement. While he won’t admit it, Joe is also motivated by Ted’s history with his wife, Louise (Emma Stone), who makes vaguely creepy dolls for a living and struggles with mental illness. As Joe gets wrapped up in a MAGA-flavoured campaign, he pushes Louise away and towards Vernon Jefferson Peak (Austin Butler), a charming yet zealous religious influencer who discusses pedophile rings.
Eddington’s first disappointment is its limp satire. Given that Aster’s first two features were wildly acclaimed horror films, initial reviews and trailer reactions have pedalled a phrase along the lines of “America’s political climate is the real horror”, and amused critics suggest the film smartly skewers that horror. Conversely, I find that the film is most interested in Joe Cross’ internal experience of a paranoid ecosystem, but, as a dark COVID comedy, Eddington falls flat. The TikTok cult leaders and self-centred social justice warriors entertain before the joke gets told too many times. Yet in all fairness, nothing can compare to a hilariously mawkish campaign ad that sees Pascal jubilantly play the piano in the street with a mask on.
Nonetheless, the cast is unilaterally on top form. Never one to turn in anything less than a wholly committed performance, Phoenix is gripping as an insecure, power-hungry officer, his manhood mocked by Daniel Pemberton and Bobby Krlic’s Western-tinged score with its ironically heroic horns. Pascal is magnetic in a more restrained role, his small-town charm upended by a mean streak, while Stone and Butler disappear into their kooky characters with aplomb. Had Aster been more interested in fleshing out the conflict between these players, the unconvincing social commentary could have been more than bearable. But the film’s greater sin is the underutilisation of its impressive cast.
It soon becomes clear that Eddington is confused about whether or not it's an ensemble piece. After the wonderful tension of the film’s beginning, inexplicably, Pascal practically disappears from the film. The many characters have an exciting outline, but Aster doesn’t colour them in. Instead, they become pawns in the slow unravelling of Joe’s ego. If I had wanted to see Joaquin Phoenix and Ari Aster studiously dissect fragile masculinity, I would have rather watched all three hours of Beau is Afraid.
“Come home, Ari,” I found myself thinking at the premiere. “Horror needs you.” Despite that somewhat selfish desire, I didn’t pursue the train of thought. Blending bitingly raw portraits of loneliness with jet-black humour, Aster’s brand of bleak comedy that shone in Beau and appears here in spurts is worth developing—even if I’m more intrigued by an evolution of Hereditary or Midsommar. Because ultimately, Eddington’s issue has nothing to do with genre, and everything to do with a meandering script that underfeeds its best elements.