Eddington | Film Review
Released July 18, 2025
Eddington Begins with a Jolt of Recognition, Then Spirals into Overreach
The night before I saw Eddington, I watched Stephen Colbert’s interview with Joaquin Phoenix. When asked what the film was about, Phoenix dodged. He fumbled for words, made a joke, moved on. It wasn’t evasive so much as uncertain. He seemed to know the film hadn’t landed the way it was meant to and couldn’t bring himself to fake it. He finally admitted, “I’m trying to sell a movie here,” and the crowd erupted in laughter.
Directed by Ari Aster, Eddington starts strong. It’s set in New Mexico in the earliest days of the pandemic, when public health theater was just beginning to calcify into social ritual. Phoenix plays a right-wing sheriff taking a stand against masking protocol. Emma Stone plays his alienated wife, an art-school burnout who’s papering their home with grotesque paintings and sculptures she’s trying to sell on Etsy.
There’s a stretch early in the film where everything clicks. The world of Eddington feels slightly off-axis but familiar in a way that’s hard to shake. People wear N95s outdoors. Couples yell at strangers. Fear becomes moral currency. I flashed back to being screamed at on a San Francisco sidewalk by a masked woman furious that I wasn’t wearing one, even though I was alone and outdoors and the science had already shifted. The movie captures that paranoia with eerie accuracy.
But it rarely stays in one mode long enough to hit anything cleanly. The film has teeth when it’s skewering pandemic righteousness or hollow protest culture. It reaches, often brilliantly, but fumbles the landing again and again.
There’s a mayoral race. A traumatic backstory involving Stone’s character and the Democratic incumbent. A public slap. Then a sniper rifle. Then a militia. Phoenix does what he’s been doing in his films for the last ten years: a slow-motion collapse into madness.
He ends in full breakdown mode, mowing down masked assailants with military-grade weaponry in a strangely dark and empty small-town square. By the time we reach the AI data center, the abusive male nurse, and Austin Butler playing a half-baked cult leader in Johnny Depp drag, the thread is long gone.
Eddington is a fascinating misfire. The first third promises a film we haven’t seen before, a psychological study of pandemic breakdown with real texture. But in trying to say everything about 2020, it ends up in a million little pieces. Even Phoenix couldn’t explain it. That may have been the most honest marketing the film ever got.