Eddington
★★★★★
There are movies that ask for your attention. Eddington grabs it—and doesn’t let go.
Ari Aster has already proven he can warp your mind (Hereditary), break your spirit (Midsommar) and fry your synapses (Beau Is Afraid). But Eddington is the film I always suspected was in him. It’s more grounded, more narrative-driven and yet no less bold. It’s a modern Western in a cracked mirror—slow-burning, paranoid, bleakly funny—and unmistakably Aster.
Set in a small New Mexico town in May 2020, just as the pandemic begins tightening its grip on the U.S., the story follows Sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix) as he finds himself increasingly at odds with the town’s ambitious mayor, Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal). What begins as tension over local policy morphs into something deeper, darker and far more combustible—about politics, power, fear and the stories we tell ourselves to feel in control.
Phoenix is mesmerizing. He plays Sheriff Cross like a man just barely holding on to a sense of duty, fraying at the edges with each contradictory headline, conspiracy podcast and increasingly hostile protest. After one impromptu Facebook Live rant, his deputy asks, “Did that feel good?” His reply—“Post it before I think about it too much”—is as much a thesis for the film as it is a critique of our current cultural impulse. Reaction is the currency of the day.
Eddington doesn’t try to relitigate who was “right” or “wrong” in those early COVID days. Instead, it explores what happens when confusion metastasizes into ideology, when community fractures under the weight of isolation and when everyone starts believing they’re the only one who truly “gets it.”
There’s a haunting familiarity here. Not just in the face masks and protests, but in the subtler, more insidious rhythms of life Aster captures—the doomscrolling, the podcast monologues the shared delusions. I don’t think I’ve seen another film so deftly portray our everyday relationship with technology. From the sheriff’s bleary-eyed morning scroll to the background buzz of tailored media streams, phones are ever-present—yet never treated as props. They’re extensions of the characters, for better or worse.
The supporting cast is stellar across the board. Even with limited screen time, Emma Stone, Pedro Pascal, Deirdre O’Connell, Austin Butler and Luke Grimes make their roles count, injecting energy and ambiguity at just the right moments. But this is Phoenix’s film through and through. His performance has the same feral sensitivity that powered Her, but here it’s caged by duty and a desperate need for certainty. That tension is what makes him so compelling.
Aster’s direction is precise and purposeful. He uses the New Mexico landscape like a pressure cooker—wide-open spaces that somehow feel claustrophobic. There’s also a wicked streak of dark humor that sneaks up on you. I found myself laughing in moments that felt wrong to laugh at, but also completely right. That’s Aster’s gift: he doesn't just toe the line between comedy and despair—he dances on it.
And yet, Eddington isn’t cynical. Beneath the chaos, it quietly asks: What are we losing in all this noise? What relationships have we let rot while chasing ideologies or likes? It’s a reminder—maybe even a warning—not to forget the people right in front of us while we’re busy fighting for the people on our screen.
One last note: Aster cleverly plays with audience expectations in a way that’s almost mischievous. You never quite know where the film is headed, and when it ends, it doesn’t wrap things up with a bow—but it leaves you with a knot in your stomach. The kind you’ll be thinking about for days.
Eddington isn’t easy. But it’s essential. And easily one of the best films of the year.
