Malcolm, in full-throated monologues, attacks
how identity politics and “authenticity”
are the prevailing metrics of film criticism,
rather than what’s on screen. It’s a, let’s say,
interesting argument to voice through a Black
character written by a white man. Is Malcolm a
mouthpiece for Levinson? Should it matter?
Either way, “Malcolm & Marie,” as much as its two
performers have dedicated themselves to the
material (Washington, in particular, is fabulously
limber and electric compared to his necessarily
more dour performance in Christopher Nolan’s
“Tenet”), never convinces that it’s an ego
trip worth sticking around to listen to. This is
especially true once Malcolm seizes on a critic
he calls “the white lady from the Los Angeles
Times” who, to him, epitomizes what’s wrong in
film criticism. Marie is dubious of this judgment
and calls herself a “spiritual sister” to the (we
hope) fictional critic. Is this all a two-headed
personification of an inner-monologue of
Levinson’s? One that plays out both sides of a
director’s (rather tedious) complaint?
Maybe all of this is meant to be part of the
meta playfulness of “Malcolm & Marie,”
which attempts to preempt certain responses
as it goes along. Either way, it’s not an
especially rewarding game. It comes out
self-absorbed, regardless.
As cinematography, “Malcolm & Marie” (shot by
Marcell Rév) is great. As cinema, not so much.
“Malcolm & Marie,” a Netflix release, is rated R
by the Motion Picture Association of America
for pervasive language, and sexual content.
Running time: 106 minutes. Two stars out of four.