There are filmmakers who punch above their weight, and there are filmmakers who punch way above their weight. And then there is Damien Chazelle when he made Babylon. Arguably one of the most ambitious, but also one of the most disappointing films of this decade, Babylon is a gargantuan, three-hour-long period epic that attempts to capture the chaotic, debauched, and ultimately transformative transition of Hollywood from the silent era to the world of sound cinema. It is a film that swings for the fences with every single frame, a sprawling combination of melodrama, musical, and dark comedy that aims to be both a eulogy for a lost art form and a raucous celebration of its messy, beautiful origins. Yet, for all its ambition, the film collapses under the weight of its own excess, leaving behind a spectacle that is more exhausting than exhilarating.
The plot begins in 1926 in California, where we are introduced to the nominal protagonist, Manuel “Manny” Torres (Diego Calva), a young Mexican immigrant trying to make ends meet through a series of odd jobs. One such job involves transporting an elephant to a spectacularly debauched party at the estate of Don Wallach (Jeff Garlin), the head of the Kinoscope film studio. This bacchanal, where partygoers indulge in every conceivable excess involving alcohol, drugs, and sex, serves as the film’s chaotic introduction to its sprawling cast of characters. Here, Manny meets the studio’s charismatic but fading star, Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt); the brash, aspiring actress Nellie LaRoy (Margot Robbie); the stoic African American jazz musician Sidney Palmer (Jovan Adepo); the Chinese lesbian intertitle designer Lady Fay Zhu (Li Jun Li); and the elderly, cynical gossip columnist Elinor St. John (Jean Smart). It is a dizzying introduction to a world that Chazelle clearly loves, but one he struggles to contain.
From this chaotic opening, Manny manages to secure a job at Kinoscope and gradually climbs the ranks to become a studio executive. Meanwhile, Nellie, whose real-life persona perfectly fits her debut role as a “wild child,” quickly becomes a minor star. But the arrival of sound in 1927 changes everything. Once-great actors like Jack Conrad find themselves unable to adapt to the new technology, their voices or their stage training failing them. Manny, who has fallen in love with Nellie, desperately tries to keep her career afloat, but her increasingly irresponsible behaviour threatens to destroy them both stocks.
It is very likely that Chazelle, while making Babylon, had his eyes firmly fixed on the Oscar for Best Picture that had eluded him six years earlier when La La Land lost to Moonlight. The film is certainly an ambitious and prestige production: a three-hour running time, a very high budget, and at least two cast members who belong to the increasingly exclusive club of actors that can be described as true stars—Brad Pitt and Margot Robbie. Everything about the film screams “award season contender,” from its period setting to its meta-cinematic themes.
Chazelle indeed tries to depict one of the most pivotal chapters in Hollywood’s history: the transition from the “truly magical world of silent cinema and the libertine 1920s towards the more disciplined world of sound cinema in the conservative 1930s.” The film is littered with references to classic films, ranging from The Jazz Singer to Singin’ in the Rain, with footage from the latter extensively used in the film’s 1952 epilogue. Even the characters are based on real people: Lady Fay Zhu is a fictionalised version of Anna May Wong, Elinor St. John is based on British writer Elinor Glyn, and Jack Conrad is clearly inspired by the tragic figure of John Gilbert. Real-life figures like Irving Thalberg (Max Minghella), William Randolph Hearst (Pat Skipper), and Marion Davies (Chloe Fineman) also make appearances stocks.
Yet, despite all these references, Chazelle discards period accuracy in almost every respect, except in one important detail. The 1920s Hollywood, or Jazz Age America in general, was notable for its excess, and Chazelle decides to show it in all of its glory. This includes nudity, sex, graphic violence, and gore, as well as various bodily functions. The latter makes many scenes that are supposed to be darkly humorous feel genuinely scatological, crossing a line from transgressive to simply unpleasant.
On the other hand, Chazelle deliberately employs anachronisms in Justin Hurwitz’s music score, as well as in the costumes and hairstyles worn by Nellie LaRoy. This, in a way, wrecks the suspension of disbelief, at least among hardcore cinephiles or silent Hollywood aficionados. The jarring mix of modern and period elements creates a dissonance that feels less like a clever artistic choice and more like a lack of confidence in the period setting.
The biggest problem for the film, however, is its excessive length and lack of a coherent story. Chazelle seems at odds with himself about whether to use the character of Manny as some sort of audience’s window into the crazy world of old Hollywood or as a true protagonist. Nellie, who is supposed to be some sort of tragic protagonist, is underwritten, her “wild child” persona becoming repetitive rather than compelling. Jack Conrad drowns in historical clichés, his arc of a silent star undone by sound feeling tired and predictable. Both Robbie and Pitt are somewhat too old for their roles, which further undermines the film’s credibility.
In an attempt to provide some closure, Chazelle introduces a storyline involving Nellie being in debt to LA gangster James McKay (Tobey Maguire). This provides some melodrama, dark humour, and scenes of rats being eaten alive in underground clubs. But the film ends on an anti-climactic note, with Manny being exiled back to Mexico. The actual ending, where he returns to Los Angeles to watch Singin’ in the Rain, succumbs to Chazelle’s pretentiousness, with the screen being replaced by a montage of the most important films in the history of cinema. It is a moment of staggering self-indulgence that tries to elevate the film to a grand statement about the magic of cinema but instead feels like a desperate plea for validation.
Giving extra emphasis to “minority” characters who would soon become subject to controversial Oscar quotas also makes the film lose much of its focus. It looks less like an attempt to honour Hollywood history and more like a cheap pandering to contemporary sensibilities, a cynical calculation that undermines the film’s artistic integrity.
Ultimately, Babylon turned into a major commercial flop, and the critics were divided. For a film with such ambition, this usually means very low chances that its bad reputation might improve in the future. Babylon is a monument to overreach, a film that tried to do too much and, in the process, did very little well. It is a fascinating failure, but a failure nonetheless.
RATING: 4/10 (+)
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