The blatant and patronizing parody of Adam McKay appears like a subpar “SNL” segment extended to 2.5 hours.
In 2018, I defended Vice’s mid-credits scene. In Adam McKay’s film, he showed that teenage girls are less engaged in politics and pay more attention to the upcoming Fast & Furious film. I understood McKay’s sentiments that a disengaged populace is destined to keep making the same faults, and I thought it was obvious that Trump’s election was the reason McKay went for producing Vice, both as a censure and a caution. However, some fans believe that this is hypocritical and patronizing from the director. And yes, I also find out later that I was mistaken as McKay just enjoys feeling superior to his viewers, like he’s the only one who has ever read a newspaper or picked up a book. Within the first 20 minutes of his most recent picture, Don’t Look Up, McKay delivers all of his arguments about the problems in America—its politics, its media, its capitalist masters, and its identities—before continuing for the remaining 125 minutes. If you somehow don’t know that the US’s division and economic interests prevent its people from being able to fix any problems, McKay is more than eager to hammer that point home.
Jennifer Lawrence’s Kate Dibiasky, a doctoral student, together with Leonardo DiCaprio’s Dr. Randall Mindy, an astronomer, found that a comet is going directly to our planet, estimated to wipe out us all in roughly half a year. Unfortunately, it is nearly hard in today’s media-saturated environment to pass that knowledge to the general public and convince Meryl Streep‘s Trump-like President Janie Orlean and her dimwitted son and chief of staff Jason (Jonah Hill) to recognize the seriousness of the problem. After Orlean chooses to hide the comet’s arrival because of the upcoming midterms, Mindy, Dibiaksi, and colleague Dr. Clayton “Teddy” Oglethorpe (Rob Morgan) go to the media with their disclosures but are unable to get traction. Even after Orlean changes her mind and decides to divert the comet, the millionaire from Silicon Valley, Peter Isherwell (Mark Rylance), who wants to exploit the comet for its lucrative resources, foils her intentions.
Although climate change is the obvious metaphor in this case, you may also think about the lessons of the COVID-19 pandemic, which is that in our divided society, scientific truths no longer command our respect, actions, or even our complete attention. Regardless of all evidence to the contrary, we’d like to think that we’re logical beings, but when faced with obvious apocalypse, we’ll just withdraw into superficial amusement (depicted by the famous pair Riley Bina and DJ Chello, portrayed by Ariana Grande and Scott Mescudi, respectively), entertainment that passes for news programming (shown by anchors portrayed by Tyler Perry and Cate Blanchett), social media, and all other forms of recreation McKay obviously despises but believes to be the best.
Due to the complexity of financial principles, McKay’s method in The Big Short from 2015 was successful. The typical individual has no idea of the definition of a credit default swap is, or the reason they the term “sub-prime mortgage” keeps entering their minds, and one way the financial sector uses this to its advantage is by causing customers feel too ignorant to engage. Vice doesn’t function as effectively, yet it still has important lessons to impart, such as the significance of the Unitary Executive idea and how Bush administration and Trump administration are interconnected. Nonetheless, McKay’s anger at the U.S. people was evident in Vice, and it is now even more apparent in Don’t Look Up.
The issue is that McKay’s shout doesn’t reveal anything new to the dialogue we already have no idea of. He is experiencing the same pandemic as the rest of us are. Everyone observes how social media users express their opinions on the effectiveness of vaccines. McKay’s fatalistic outlook isn’t incorrect; it’s just overt and patronizing. Yes, we are divided due to a nexus of political objectives, capitalist objectives, and a news-as-entertainment apparatus exacerbated by social media, but is the general public truly uninformed that this is taking place? Or, to take it a step further, does McKay believe that this movie will persuade anyone who isn’t already persuaded by him? Nobody wants to listen to a 2.5-hour lesson on a subject they are already familiar with, and Don’t Look Up is not a covert attack but a furious rant. The main source of McKay’s annoyance appears to be the fact that nobody is acting logically without having a solid comprehension of identity politics. Of course, media and politics can exacerbate polarization, but in a movie so lacking in humanity, McKay has no chance of connecting with anybody but his fellow adherents.
“Well, at least I tried,” concludes McKay about his passionate shout of a movie, but Don’t Look Up isn’t much of an attempt. Making a simple, worn-out observation without adding anything new requires little attempt. Making a movie with lots of well-meaning renowned individuals and getting Netflix to cover its expense doesn’t take much work. The editing is particularly terrible because every jump cut and cutaway screams “Get it?!” to the action taking place in the scene. It’s not much of an attempt to create a movie in which nearly all single characters are incompetent or corrupt but then intercut it with random “life” pictures to test and create the case that we deserve to be redeemed as well.
A movie that feels immensely smug is all that is left. We’re not discussing it as we lack the authority to avert calamity, says McKay in response to the commenter who interrupts a conversation and asks, “Why are we not talking about this.” The refrain from Don’t Look Up isn’t a warning; rather, it is a fatalistic one that we have heard numerous times previously. It lacks any novel insights and is too casually dismissive of everybody and everything to be able to memorize a nice humor. I agree with every point McKay makes, but I find the way he chooses to present them to be utterly tiresome. It’s a relentlessly dull experience.