‘Malcolm & Marie’ Review: A Stunning Portrayal of Relationships, and a Monochrome Two-Hander Triumph
PUT ASIDE, MOMENTARILY, THE CONVERSATION ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT ZENDAYA AND THE CINEMATOGRAPHY SHOULD BE LAST-MINUTE OSCARS CONTENDERS, AND INSTEAD HEAR THIS: ‘MALCOLM & MARIE’ IS ONE OF THE GREATEST FILMS OF THE PAST TWENTY YEARS.
Two-handers - in layman’s terms, a two-character play - are an interesting form of film. Their very nature places the fate of the piece entirely in the hands of two performers, and creates additional challenges by way of both keeping an audience captivated, and allowing the story to flow dynamically in, usually, one confined space, with the characters often being given nothing to do except talk. At their greatest - “Before Sunset”, “My Dinner with Andre”, “The Lighthouse” - they allow us to get an incredibly rich and deep look into the characters’ psyche and soul, as well as that which is within ourselves. They can create a deep impression of the relationship between the two characters, and amplify the emotional chasms between them just as much as they do the moments where they find one another. But the worst ones - and there are too many examples to cite - often fail because the filmmakers just wanted to make a two-hander, and the lack of further reason results in a tedious experience without substance, its existence comprising two people talking “at” one another, going on for 90-ish minutes, and ending.
Thankfully - almost miraculously - “Malcolm & Marie”, written and directed by Sam Levinson, produced by Little Lamb and Fotokem, and distributed by Netflix, sits firmly in the “greatest” camp of two-handers. Starring John David Washington and Zendaya as, in order, the couple whose names create the title, “Malcolm & Marie” manages to be one of the most compelling and dynamic two-handers ever made, despite simultaneously being one of the most limited. Where “Before Sunset” reunites Jesse and Céline on the streets of Paris, lively and populated; where “My Dinner with Andre” takes place in a restaurant, with the wait staff interjecting from time to time; and where “The Lighthouse” finds a way to bend the rules via a mermaid-infused dream sequence, and a flashback to murder; “Malcolm & Marie” holds rigidly to its confines, and not for a single frame does it stray. All we get is these two people, in their house, talking the night away, with not so much as a single other face or voice ever shown or heard, and the farthest distance from the house that either character ever gets being about 100 feet, during any one of the four total times that they’re shown outside: once together as they drive up to the house during the opening credits, once each individually during the film, and one final time, again together, as we leave the film with them.
Malcolm is a 30-something film director who enters the film full of energy because he has just premiered his latest movie, “Imani”, a dark and in-depth portrayal of drug addiction, to rapturous acclaim; whereas Marie is his girlfriend, fatigued and expressionless after an entire evening of pretending to care about the Hollywood types she was forced to spend the night around by extension. As soon as they get home, Malcolm proceeds to put on “Down and Out in New York City” by James Brown at max volulme, dancing and singing around the room with glee; Marie, meanwhile, could not give less of a damn about Malcolm’s celebration, instead making a trip to the bathroom before putting the stove on to make some mac ‘n’ cheese, and only engaging with Malcolm on a superficial level. It doesn’t take long for Malcolm to pick up on Marie’s indifference, and he begins to prod her. She attempts to dismiss him, wanting to just eat and go to bed, but he keeps pushing: the series of verbal explosions that ensues for the next hour and a half creates a harrowing, yet twistedly moving portrait of relationships, and not the healthy, wholesome, perfect kind you seem to see in movies. This is an ugly, ugly night in the lives of these two people, and we’re forced to watch it as a helpless bystander.
There isn’t exactly a down-the-middle neutral stance taken here: Marie has her issues and flaws like any other human being, and in an argument she certainly proves capable of striking at low-hanging fruit; but Malcolm is easily painted as the bigger asshole of the two… at least, tonight he is. And that’s something that doesn’t really get telegraphed about “Malcolm & Marie”, that we’re only privy to a few hours in the lives of these two people, who have been together for years. This isn’t their first fight - if we’re to take even just one of them as a reliable narrator, it’s not even their worst - and we do not have a complete portrait of their relationship. Granted, their arguments during the film do some of the painting for us, but they ultimately reveal two flawed people who have both wronged one another, and do little to make us outright choose a side. Make no mistake, there is no excuse for the levels of cruelty Malcolm reaches at some moments: but he comes across more as a man whose exposure to toxic masculinity and racism has made him bitter, rather than as just an outright reprehensible, mindlessly abusive person. By the time “Malcolm & Marie” smashes to black, the roller coaster ride this relationship has taken you on might have made you recoil a few times, and may even have put an emotional drain on you: but it is also possible that you might walk away from it just hoping that these two people can turn out okay, and find a way to do it not only together, but on a healthier course.
Washington deserves a lot of credit for injecting the right balance of sympathy into Malcolm - not so little that you want bad things to happen to him, but not so much that you forget his flaws, with the margin between those two extremes being incredibly slim - and, despite his performance going “big” at multiple times, never feels like he’s performing Malcolm rather than inhabiting him. The already-controversial monologue in the middle of the film, a vicious, eight-minute tirade against film critics, brought on in response to the first published review of “Imani”, showcases two things: Washington’s nuanced capabilities as an actor, the incredible range he can stretch across in even just one scene; and Levinson’s writing, where he’s partially venting his own frustrations as an artist, but primarily showcasing what it feels like to be a creative person, and especially the scrutiny that comes when your art manages to find an audience. “Cinema doesn’t need to have a message, it needs to have a heart, an electricity,” Malcolm retorts towards the review, and it’s in that line of dialogue specifically that you hear Levinson speaking through him. Other than in that moment, if Malcolm is supposed to be some kind of “No Celebrities Were Harmed” version of Levinson, a vessel for his feelings as a filmmaker, then Levinson deliberately put himself in a rather unflattering light. It’s predictable that critics would react negatively to an artist deriding them: no one likes having a mirror held up to them accompanied with a vicious appraisal that essentially says “look at yourself, you suck.” Perhaps more critics should be artists themselves. Maybe that would open up a better dialogue between both sides of the aisle.
Regardless, Washington’s work, even with written material on this level, would arguably be ineffective without a scene partner who can not only equal him, but exceed him. Zendaya achieves this effortlessly, even when she isn’t the one speaking but especially when she is. The most important aspect of an actor’s performance is their eyes, and Zendaya has the capability, as do all of the great actors, to convey 100 words in any given second with hers. When Malcolm insults her, particularly during a scene where she soaks in the bath, and the camera is closer to her face than it is at any other point in the film, of course you can clearly register pain on her face. But you can also see everything from a silent acknowledgment that he comes, perhaps, from an initial place of sincerity and hurt that he’s twisted into cruelty; a certain level of numbness to behavior she has suffered through before; and a desire for things to be different… for things to be better. And then she gets her turn to speak, and it absolutely floors you. Levinson and Zendaya have obviously formed a deep working relationship post-”Euphoria”: he knows exactly what he wants from her and how to get it, and she knows how to take that initial collaborative success and dig deeper into it than anyone could have expected. What happens here as a result is not only her greatest work to date, but a serious contender among all of the great performances of the past decade or so. There are a lot of superlatives that apply to “Malcolm & Marie”, but what assessment for an actor is more superlative than to win an Oscar, which Zendaya absolutely deserves come April 15th?
On the subject of effusive praise and golden statuettes, Marcell Rév’s striking black-and-white cinematography at least deserves to be in the conversation. The way Rév uses the Caterpillar House, where “Malcolm & Marie” was filmed, turning it into a character of its own, and shapes the course of the story - as well as the impact it has on Malcolm and Marie’s relationship - with every shot that features the two in frame together, is an integral element of why the film is such a resounding success. He places Malcolm on a pedestal as he rants about critics, towering over the camera, only to be level with him when the drunk director flops onto the carpet. He is unflinchingly intimate with both characters during the bathtub scene, forcing your reaction and your stance. And, finally, Rév’s compositions are exquisite, from the long take of Washington grooving around the living room, to the very final tableau he creates. “Malcolm & Marie” isn’t for everyone: far beyond whatever grievances critics may or may not have with the film, there will also be those who don’t find either of these people sympathetic, who can’t stand the cynicism of the back-and-forth insults, or who don’t buy the direction their relationship goes; but no matter where you land on it, there’s no denying that this film is endlessly gorgeous to look at.
There’s a lot more that could be unpacked regarding “Malcolm & Marie”, but then this would turn into a book. It’s quite alright to hold off on doing that: time is going to vindicate this film from its initial reactions, and it will be pored over and studied endlessly, not only from a critical perspective, but by filmmakers who strive to create that very best form of two-hander film. “Before Sunset.” “My Dinner with Andre.” “The Lighthouse.” Add “Malcolm & Marie” to that list: it’s a modern day - and Malcolm literally hates this word, but here it comes nonetheless - masterwork.