COVID, Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Wannabe Influencers!
Ari Aster’s Eddington is messy—deliberately, chaotically, unapologetically messy. It wants to be everything, all at once. And somehow, it kind of is. But it works.
Written by Mariane Tremblay
Set in Eddington, New Mexico, in late May 2020, the film unfolds at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, with fear, frustration, and paranoia simmering just beneath the surface. When tensions between the town’s sheriff (Joaquin Phoenix) and mayor (Pedro Pascal) erupt into a full-blown standoff, the already fragile community begins to fracture, pitting neighbors, friends, and even family members against each other.
As cults emerge, protests swell, and seemingly everyone starts filming everything around them (Joe Cross is, unexpectedly, my new favorite vlogger), Eddington descends into a chaotic whirlwind of conspiracy, confusion, and collective breakdown. It’s absurd, unsettling, and eerily reflective of the world we all lived through—just turned up to eleven.
The film plunges headfirst into the political chaos of the pandemic era, capturing the deafening noise of conspiracy theories, the public outcry over systemic corruption, and the collective rage that defined that time. It’s telling that Aster chose to set the story in late May 2020—right as the murder of George Floyd ignited worldwide protests and the Black Lives Matter movement took over the streets and the conversation. He could’ve picked any moment from that chaotic year, but anchoring the film in that specific time makes it clear he’s engaging with the political and racial tensions at their boiling point.
Using the murder of George Floyd as part of the backdrop is a risky choice. In the wrong hands, it could’ve easily felt exploitative or deeply out of touch. But Aster isn’t making light of what happened. Instead, he turns his focus to a group of white, privileged young people who tried to use that moment for their image, co-opting the language of activism without any real understanding or accountability. It’s meant to be uncomfortable. But beneath all the chaos, there’s a clear purpose in how he handles these themes: to expose the disconnect between performative allyship and actual social responsibility, and to hold a mirror up to those who turned real tragedy into a stage for themselves.
On first watch, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Eddington. But on a second viewing, it hit differently. What once felt overwhelming now feels more deliberate. Beneath the madness lies a sharp, unnerving critique of a society shaped by misinformation, denial, and social media-fueled hysteria. And honestly, that might be the scariest part of the film—Eddington isn’t a horror movie in the traditional sense, but the horror comes from just how accurate this satire is.
Watching it again stirred something I hadn’t expected—it unearthed memories I think I’d subconsciously buried. That entire period felt like too much to process, so I boxed it up and shoved it to the back of my mind. The film forced me to confront just how surreal, fragmented, and emotionally raw that time was. It opens in the eerie stillness of early lockdowns—empty streets, paranoia, conspiracy theories—and quickly spirals into Black Lives Matter protests, American gun culture, cultish thinking, and domestic terrorism. It sounds overwhelming, and sometimes it is, but that’s exactly the point: Aster doesn’t try to tame the chaos of 2020—he reconstructs its panic, absurdity, and psychological disarray.
Time has felt strange ever since that year. Watching Eddington reminds us that all of this happened only five years ago, and yet it feels both impossibly distant and disturbingly close. Maybe it’s because we actually lived through it, day by day, adapting to a constantly shifting reality. Re-entering that headspace through this film felt disorienting—like stepping back into a fever dream you didn’t realize you were still recovering from.
The film makes you laugh at the absurdity, then hits you with the unsettling truth of how close to reality it really is. The ignorance, the wild theories, the confusion… One moment you’re thinking, “What the hell are they doing?” and the next, “Oh… some people actually did that.” Even though it leans into small-town clichés, it works. Having gone through the pandemic in a small town myself, I recognized a lot of the behaviors the film portrays—unfortunately.
Some narrative threads still feel a bit vague—especially the cult and AFIFA—but they didn’t bother me as much the second time around. Maybe we’re not meant to fully understand them. Maybe it’s more about the atmosphere of contradiction and chaos than traditional plot clarity. What’s clear is that nothing in Eddington is random. It’s bold, sometimes disjointed, but always intentional—it makes sense that it doesn’t make sense. Because let’s be honest: nothing made sense during that time.
And unlike my first viewing, this time it didn’t feel like it was dragging. Once I settled into its rhythm—despite its wild turns—I was completely in it. I laughed, cringed, and honestly had a great time (shoutout to the Fantasia crowd). The film is surprisingly hilarious—its dark, absurdist humor is one of its strongest assets. It won’t be for everyone, but you should give it a shot… or two (pun intended).
The performances are incredible across the board. No one can doubt Joaquin Phoenix’s talent. Emma Stone is magnetic—but is that really a surprise? She could read the phone book, and I’d be captivated, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. And even with minimal screen time, Austin Butler delivers an unforgettable performance.
What makes Eddington even more compelling is its technical precision. Aster shows a keen understanding of where to position the camera and how to move it, using framing and motion to enhance the emotional and thematic undercurrents of each scene. Some shots are genuinely striking. On both viewings, I noticed new details in the cinematography that deepened my appreciation for the film’s craftsmanship.
In the end, Eddington may not be a perfect film, but it’s certainly an interesting one. It captures the essence of a year we’re all still trying to make sense of. Was it necessary to make a film about 2020? Maybe not. But the way Aster did it? I’m glad he did.
Behind all the noise is a film that tries—and dares—to say something. It might not always land, but when it does, it really does.
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