Babylon Is a Fervent Ode to Hollywood History, Drug-fueled Degeneracy and the Magic of Cinema

When D.W. Griffith faced backlash for his racist depictions in The Birth of a Nation, he attempted to return with something bigger, bolder and more morally righteous to silence his critics. Thus, Intolerance, a 1916 silent epic of unprecedented budget and scale, was born. After the film floundered, its colossal Babylonian set was left abandoned in a dirt lot on the corner of Sunset and Hollywood Boulevard—allowing the extravagant décor to become a metaphor for Hollywood’s decaying morals in Kenneth Anger’s 1959 Hollywood Babylon, a compilation of some of the wildest and most depraved golden-aged gossip ever put to paper. It seems that when Hollywood fails, a symbolic connection to the fallen Mesopotamian capital is not far behind. For this reason, Damien Chazelle’s latest feature, a three-hour “hate letter” to the filmmaking machine, is aptly titled. The film continues a tradition: Decadently dragging Tinseltown through the mud (or, in this case, urine, elephant feces, rat’s blood and Margot Robbie’s projectile vomit). But through all its filth, cynicism and poison-inked vengeance, Babylon cannot help but to be a devoted worshiper at the altar of cinema—and its admiration proves infectious.
Babylon begins in 1926 with a less-than-luxurious introduction to Manny Torres (Diego Calva), a pliant protagonist who acts as our eyes and ears through much of the film’s rollercoaster journey. When we first meet the young Mexican immigrant, he wants nothing more than to be on a film set, and will do just about anything to make that happen. His hunger has led him to some strange places, and on this particular day, he is tasked with transporting an adult-sized elephant to a hilltop mansion that will later serve as the location for a sweaty, cocaine-fueled jamboree.
It’s at this party, between the thunderous jazz, the hoards of half-nude bodies and warm tungsten lights, that we meet the film’s key players: There’s the guest of honor, Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt), a beloved leading man of the silent pictures; Sidney Palmer (Jovan Adepo), the talented trumpet player leading the live band; Lady Fay Zhu (Li Jun Li), the cabaret performer who wows the crowd with her risqué rendition of “My Girl’s Pussy;” and Margot Robbie’s Nellie LaRoy, a vibrant Hollywood-hopeful who crashes the rager with a little help from a smitten Manny.
When an actress from Kinescope Studios falls ill, it’s up to the fixers to make sure her body is transported out of the mansion without suspicion and find her replacement. This is where Nellie, who walked into the party as a complete unknown, gets her big break. It’s what La La Land dreams are made of—until it’s not. As the characters navigate the shifting technical and moral standards of their industry—from silent films to talkies, from exuberant sex-on-film to the Hays Code—their larger-than-life narratives take a tragic turn.
From shot-by-shot references to films like Sunset Boulevard and Singin’ in the Rain to subtle allusions to the rumors published in Anger’s Hollywood Babylon, Babylon is flooded with Hollywood history, real and mythical. The character we see this in the most is Nellie, the rambunctious Brooklyn wild child whose familial circumstances and roaring sexuality mirror real-life silent starlet Clara Bow. Bow, the first ever “it girl” and an individual whose life was plagued by parental abuse and tragedy, was one of the many entertainers victimized by the reckless rumors published in Anger’s book (which mostly demonized her for her sexual openness).