Malcolm and Marie and Her
Original Publication 10/02/21
Photo courtesy of Netflix
Spoilers ahead!
Last night I fell upon the lockdown-conceived drama, Malcolm & Marie (Sam Levinson 2021). Although these days I rarely "fall upon" any work of film, such is the research potential of the internet and my penchant for knowing precisely what I have to look forward to over the next few months, at any given time. Truth be told, this process has only intensified during the course of lockdown, as the profound absence of cinema left me and countless other cinephiles in its wake (see The Cinema and the Absence of my Happy Place for more musings). But it's a process I take great pleasure in enacting, and one I take great pride in conveying to my partner. As an audience, she is deeply attentive and forever grateful for this exchange, and it truly warms the heart.
Between us, we have spent lockdown surging through an abundance of scintillating and engrossing cinema. Some for the first time, many for a second or even more. Endearingly, she's always on hand after the final credits to indulge me in some dramatic post-discussion.
Of those films, is Malcolm & Marie. The film explores a filmmaker and his girlfriend's relationship as they return home from the premiere of his debut film and await the response from critics. It's a somewhat self-indulgent portrayal of artists and filmmaking, seen through the eyes of a couple madly in love, but, ultimately, with a host of unresolved emotions.
Visually, the film is striking. Exquisite grading and a gorgeous set-design do wonders to promote a sense of classical romanticism, along with the film's heavily jazz-influenced soundtrack. Laudation can especially be given to Levinson's use of innovative tracking shots and his keen eye for framing, adding depth and intrigue to the fluctuating relationship dynamic of the couple.
In a general sense, however, Levinson is too present for the interactions between his lead (and only) characters. Despite offering intriguing food for thought about the nature of art and film and the dire reality of film critics (yes the irony is clear), too often are we witnessing Malcolm and Marie rant and rave but hearing the voice of the man behind the script. The plot also lacks any real direction, it merely canters along with the current temperament of the couple, jumping between rage, guilt and disdain. It's a shame because the film explores some truly relative and complex themes, and Levinson's script features two deeply human and flawed characters, brought to life by passionate and engaging performances by John David Washington (the apple clearly doesn't fall far from the tree) and Zandaya. They offer vulnerabilities that are simply intoxicating for the audience to behold, and that's a quality sorely lacking in the cinema of today.
There's also a lot to be said for the film's insight into what it's like to be romantically involved with a creatively-minded individual. For the most part, Malcolm is an inflated, egocentric example of an artist, but he also attests to the profound status of Marie in his life and in his creative process. She is, for all intents and purposes, his inspiration. His film is partly based on her life and her disdain largely comes from the lack of recognition and appreciation that she feels she was merited. Her status as an earpiece for his vehement rants and raves is also hauntingly familiar.
As an artist (if a writer may be so bold as to call himself that) I find myself in the position of stark contradiction to Malcolm. If my future pans out in the way I strive for, and I find myself on that stage at the premiere of my debut film, my gratitude would be predominantly for one individual, my partner. Without her loving support, dedication and attentive nature, I wouldn't be standing there. She's my number one fan and my muse. Like the gesture that Marie deeply yearns for, I would thank her for all that she has done for me, because, without her, I would surely not be there.