Eddington‘s Bleak Fantasy Bemoans a Nation in its Death Throes

Ari Aster’s latest film, Eddington, is a divisive film about a divided Nation. Excoriating and exhilarating in equal measure, it is the first truly great movie to deal explicitly with the unique madness and malice that the global pandemic revealed, a kind of touchstone for a time and place that with only a few years remove feels at once as fictional and otherworldly as a sci-fi novel, and at the same time the very real-world harbinger of the political shifts that proceeded.
At the Hereditary premiere back in 2018 at Sundance’s Egyptian Theatre showcasing Aster’s debut, I can attest the audience shared an electric feeling of excitement about the discovery of a new and unique talent, one unafraid to mine genre conventions of the past while very much making them his own. His follow-up, Midsommar, borrowed heavily from a litany of other folk-horror tales, and once again its stylishness and effectiveness trumped any concerns about redundancy, though it did feel a bit more bloated than his taut earlier effort. Aster’s third film was more ambitious and more deeply flawed, with Beau is Afraid proving to be a maximalist, ungainly exploration of madness that overstayed its welcome by almost half its running time. With Beau, the feeling for this fan was one of deflation, finding an artist who was losing his way in favor of self-indulgence.
It is through a lens of trepidation that I screened Eddington, and certainly my dramatically lowered expectations may have helped satisfy this time around. All cynicism about the artistic project aside, I was completely enraptured by the film, solidly along for its tortuous yet exceptional ride.
Eddington provides another genre mélange, locking onto elements that equally fascinate the likes of the Coen brothers who, admittedly, tend to use a scalpel rather than Aster’s chainsaw to make their equally acidic takes. The Coens are masters of the blackly comedic travails of hapless individuals lost in mayhem of their own making, and tonally it’s this element that is built upon, with Aster approaching things in an even more vitriolic way, managing to burst the syphilitic sores of American society.
The writer/director prods at performative liberalism and conservative epistemological fallacies alike, as well as setting his gaze upon cultish delusions, the pornographic obsession with firearms treating a single constitutional amendment like a biblical testament, the simmering violence of political power, and even the territorial complexities between settler and the colonized that defines the American experiment.
Heady stuff, to be sure, but somehow in this mélange of madness Aster manages to pull it all off. Much of that success has to do with a pitch-perfect performance by Joaquin Phoenix, providing a mix of rage and emotional impotence not fully explored since a similarly effective take in The Master.
Phoenix plays Joe Cross, a man fittingly named after an ancient device of state-sponsored punitive torture who serves as the hapless sheriff of Eddington, New Mexico. With state-mandated lockdowns in place, his decision to go maskless is treated as an act of defiance by an officer of the law, pitting him in direct opposition to the town’s charismatic mayor/bar owner Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal).