The longest six hours of my life, Ari Aster’s Eddington is an Ari Aster Disaster. Though it officially clocks in at “only” 2.5 hours, this odd and oddly lifeless critique of all things politically divisive in the United States is an insufferable slog.
About an hour in–or was it four?–I got a little thirsty and decided to go find the drinking fountain. Usually, I walk with purpose so as not to miss more than I need to of whatever movie I’m watching. With Eddington, I strolled over to the drinking fountain. Decided to go to the bathroom, because why not. Checked my work email. Because anything would be more enjoyable than returning to the dungeon that Aster locks his audience into.
Aster’s Hereditary is a horror classic, and Midsommar is arguably better. Even Beau is Afraid (which also starred Joaquim Phoenix) is incredibly well done, even if it didn’t entirely work for me. But with his fourth feature, Aster goes off the rails.
What’s really strange is that despite the end product being wholly intolerable, there are elements that work piece by piece. First, Phoenix is all in here, delivering another satisfying and somewhat oft kilter performance that attempts (though fails) to breathe life into the flatlined material. Speaking of material, Aster does land some satirical punches that made me laugh or chuckle. No one is safe–conspiracy theorists, anti-maskers, mask proponents, Black Live Matters, privileged white liberals–though his barbs at the left made me laugh the most (I’m a Democrat).
But damn, Eddington sucks. The first hour is so tedious, the pacing so far off base, that you practically lean forward in your seat–not out of excitement but out of a desire to propel the story forward, to discover momentum that isn’t there. I almost moved to the back of the theater so I could check my phone. Hell, I truly considered leaving early, and I never do that.
By the time Aster ramps things up, his movie was lost. Something big and bad does happen, but it’s impossible to care about anything that follows. Aster lets things spiral out of control, but not in a purposeful or profound way. Stuff happens on screen, but all you really want to happen is for the movie to end.
Aster isn’t even willing to do that. Just when you think Eddington is wrapping up, he extends the story somehow, inexplicably, for another 15 fucking minutes. By this point, and long before, I had no idea what message he was trying to convey or why he even made this movie derived from the pits of hell.
Even though Eddington has some pieces that work, its whole is an epic failure. Ari Aster’s disaster is almost insultingly bad, an offensive waste of time for anyone who witnesses it.
Review by Erik Samdahl.
