Ari Aster’s Eddington is a neo-western satire that lands squarely in the strange liminal space between Woody Allen’s neurotic, character-driven comedy pieces and Quentin Tarantino’s sharp-edged storytelling. Set during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the film examines a society teetering on the edge, filtered through the lens of a small-town sheriff wrestling with both personal demons and political disillusionment.
The story kicks off in May 2020, when a tense standoff between Sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix) and the town mayor (Pedro Pascal) ignites a powder keg, turning neighbor against neighbor in Eddington, New Mexico. What could have been a straightforward tale of local politics becomes a sprawling, darkly comic exploration of a town in upheaval.
The narrative initially unfolds at a deliberate pace, feeling more like a careful character study than a conventional plot-driven movie. But patience pays off: by the midpoint, the film dives headfirst into its meticulously constructed ensemble, and suddenly every quirk, flaw, and hidden agenda becomes crucial.
At the heart of the film is Joaquin Phoenix’s Sheriff Joe Cross, a quietly magnetic presence whose complexity anchors the story. He carries the moral and existential weight of the narrative with a careful blend of nuance and dark, often startling humour. Phoenix’s performance is both unsettling and utterly compelling, while the supporting cast—particularly Micheal Ward (“Top Boy”) and Luke Grimes (“Yellowstone”), who share most of their scenes with him—deliver sharp, layered turns that make the ensemble feel alive and unpredictable.
Thematically, the film lands with precision. Political polarization, misinformation, and societal unraveling are explored with biting commentary that will make you laugh as much as it will make you wince. Some moments of the film are uncomfortable, even overwhelming, but given the world we’re living in, the tension often feels right on target.
In many ways, Eddington feels like Ari Aster at his most daring. Venturing far from the horror that first made his name, he crafts a film that is as provocative as it is meticulously observed, blending sharp social commentary with moments of dark, sly humour. It’s a confident, assured work that places him firmly alongside the likes of Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, and the Coen brothers—a director unafraid to push both tone and form.
It’s a film that simmers, sparks, and by the end, it scorches—leaving you unsettled, perplexed, and wrestling with its ideas long after.
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