Sofia Aguilar ‘21

Since it debuted on Netflix on Feb. 5, Malcolm & Marie has been called many things—exhausting and triggering, moving, beautiful, and stunning. The film’s writer/director Sam Levinson, also behind HBO’s Euphoria, has been simultaneously accused of romanticizing toxic relationships and praised for the film’s gorgeous cinematography, soundtrack, and performances. What most interests me about Malcolm & Marie is not the story itself, but the response it has garnered from critics and audiences alike.

Starring Zendaya and John David Washington, Malcolm & Marie depicts the events following the premiere of a new film directed by Malcolm, who is based to some degree on Levinson. For the entirety of the film’s hour and forty-six-minute runtime, he and Marie argue about their relationship and what each of them offers to the other. But they don’t just argue. They gaslight, exchange verbal barbs, use each other’s trauma as fuel to shame and humiliate, and showcase the worst of themselves while also briefly engaging in sexual foreplay.

Yet there’s so much to love about this film.

From the very first frame, Malcolm & Marie enveloped me in the spirit and aesthetic of old Hollywood. The black-and-white color grading, the graininess of the film revealing itself especially in up-close shots, and Zendaya’s custom Silk Lamé gown and make-up pointed to a 1950s sensibility that still remains timeless.

The film even employs noir-inspired opening credits in the style of 1930s movies—self-contained from the rest of the film and separating the listed names of the actors and crew members from their role by a series of ellipses.

Unlike modern films that now superimpose opening credits on top of the action or cut them all together (which became a trend beginning in the early 2000s), here Malcolm & Marie seeks to transport the audience to a different time entirely.

The soundtrack continues in this theme, using mid-century jazz and soul music by Black artists—James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone—mixed with modern R&B and hip hop musicians like Little Simz, NNAMDÏ, and OutKast.

Throughout the film, music serves as an important third character, a mode of communication between the two leads.

Marie listens to Dionne Warwick’s “Get Rid of Him” after Malcolm brings up all of his past exes and reminisces about each of them just to hurt her. Malcolm mumbles along to William Bell’s “I Forgot To Be Your Lover” by way of an apology for his dismissive behavior toward Marie (though she doesn’t take kindly to his using someone else’s song to avoid articulating his own remorse).

Of course, I can’t talk about Malcolm & Marie without acknowledging Zendaya and John David Washington’s performances.

The two sole actors carry this responsibility well. Zendaya delivers her monologues with all the spirit and passion of the seasoned actor she is. She manages to turn Marie, an otherwise tiresome character, into a complex woman who wins the audience to her side by the closing credits. As narcissistic and manipulative as Malcolm is, Washington understands his character completely and portrays even an easy-to-despise partner with varying shades of intricacy.

But my problem with the film, as many viewers similarly expressed, is that it wants to be less than it is.

According to its director Sam Levinson, the film’s only message is about gratitude: “The message of this film is simply that you need to acknowledge the people in your life who help create the life that you’re able to flourish within…That’s it.”

He certainly succeeds in conveying this message through Marie’s final monologue. For nearly twenty minutes, she criticizes Malcolm for his failure to acknowledge her value as a person, partner, and creative collaborator. She carves a new space for herself in his life and essentially writes the thank-you speech that he should’ve given at the film premiere. That much of Levinson’s intention to explore the importance of gratitude is clear.

But I object to the film’s lack of self-awareness and meta-critique of film criticism, as well as its exploitation and misrepresentation of its Black characters.

Malcolm in his actions and attitude perfectly encapsulates both problems. Constantly, he bashes film critics for flexing their college education in their reviews (though he also has a college education) and seeking political messages in movies made by Black directors but not white. In a 10-minute rant, he complains about how unduly they weigh identity when evaluating and analyzing creative work.

Though his outbursts carry seeds of truth, at least as regards the hypocritical treatment of art made by BIPOC, I take issue with Levinson, a white writer and filmmaker, using Black characters to vent about his issues with critics. In what world is Levinson’s unresolved beef with film critic Katie Walsh who poorly reviewed his 2018 film Assassination Nation equal to the racism Black creators face in not only the film industry but every industry?

Other critics such as screenwriter JustLatasha went so far as to criticize Levinson’s casting choices which, whether intentionally or not, perpetuated colorism. Seeing Zendaya, a light-skinned mixed woman, as the “good” or at least better half of the relationship and John David Washington, a dark-skinned Black man, as the undeniable, inexcusable face of manipulation and cruelty, it’s clear Levinson doesn’t engage with or educate himself on the communities he wrote about in his film.

Refusing to value identity in the creation of art is not the supposedly enlightened take he thinks it is and in fact, makes his intentions less viable.

Perhaps his only message was to remind us to be more grateful to our art and those who inspire it, but if we find fault with the methodology with which he conveyed that theme, then it is he who failed as a writer and director, not we who failed as an audience.

Whether Malcolm & Marie is a good or bad movie isn’t necessarily the point. It’s found both fans and detractors, provided new meme formats online, and has furthered Zendaya’s acting career into more adult roles. But its biggest success is perhaps what Levinson would consider its biggest failing—it has inspired conversation.

OPINION: Malcolm & Marie is Both Beauty and Travesty