Eddington (2025)
Ari Aster’s latest endeavour, Eddington, is a curious and confronting piece of cinema that operates somewhere between a neo-Western and a fever dream. Set in a desolate New Mexico town during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the film centres on a sheriff (Joaquin Phoenix) and a mayor (Pedro Pascal) whose ideological friction over a community server farm project becomes the kindling for a larger, more volatile conflict. It’s an unflinching gaze at the fissures that can rupture a society from within, and for the most part, it’s a profoundly effective one.
The film’s greatest strength lies in its meticulous atmosphere. Cinematographer Darius Khondji, a veteran of creating hauntingly beautiful landscapes, paints the arid vistas of Eddington with a mixture of raw realism and oppressive foreboding. The sun-drenched days and starless nights feel less like a backdrop and more like an active participant in the story, echoing the emotional desiccation of the characters. We are presented with a world where the physical and the psychological are inextricably linked, where the oppressive heat is a mirror for the escalating tensions between its inhabitants. It’s an aesthetically brilliant and often mesmerising experience, even when the narrative stumbles.
Joaquin Phoenix delivers a performance of remarkable vulnerability and concealed fury, portraying his character as a man tethered to a sense of duty that is constantly at odds with his crumbling personal life. His subtle, almost imperceptible shifts in demeanour are a masterclass in character study. Pedro Pascal, as his foil, offers a nuanced counterpoint, embodying a certain kind of pragmatic conviction that is, in its own way, just as dogmatic. The ensemble cast, including Emma Stone, are all uniformly excellent, ensuring that the dialogue-heavy scenes remain a compelling game of conversational chess.
Where Eddington occasionally falters is in its ambition. The film’s second act occasionally feels over-stuffed, as if Aster felt compelled to cram every last ounce of societal anxiety into a single narrative. A subplot involving a cult leader and his followers, while conceptually intriguing, seems to meander a little too long, threatening to pull focus from the central power struggle. It’s a minor blemish on an otherwise masterful work, but it does cause the momentum to dip slightly before a breathtaking and brutal final act.
Despite this, the film’s central thesis remains powerfully clear. Eddington is a study of how the most innocuous of choices, and the most deeply held personal beliefs, can be weaponised and amplified to devastating effect. It examines the peculiar human capacity for self-deception and the ease with which we can mistake our own personal grievances for a righteous crusade. It is a four-star film that is likely to be debated and discussed for years to come, not just for its craftsmanship, but for the uncomfortable truths it holds up for us to examine.