Malcolm and Marie: Emotional Abuse and Cross-racial Ventriloquism
Louisa Johnson
This Netflix film, written and directed by Euphoria creator Sam Levinson, centres on the turbulent relationship between Malcolm and Marie. Malcolm (John David Washington) is a narcissistic filmmaker who has just premiered a movie based on Marie’s own experiences with drug abuse. Marie (Zendaya) is a disillusioned young actress, who becomes furious with Malcolm upon their arrival home because he neglected to thank her in his speech. Marie views this incident as emblematic of their relationship; she insists Malcolm does not appreciate her contribution to his work, stifles her creative expression, and takes her for granted.
Marketed as “a story about love,” this misguided trailer label does not adequately prepare its audience for what is to follow. In this romantic drama, the normal ebbs and flows of a relationship have shifted into a relentless tsunami, with little to no relief. What is lacking is a sense of why the couple are drawn to each other. There are rare tender moments that see the pair on the precipice of reconciliation, but this only occurs in the form of sexual gratification — something that never fully comes to fruition.
The other moments of calm which are not overtly sexual take place under the shimmer of thinly-veiled gaslighting. For instance, Malcolm lectures Marie for loving to be “debased and degraded” instead of questioning why he debases and degrades her. He then insists he does not need her in his life, but this is how he knows he loves her. He shouts the house down, belittles, and patronises her repeatedly, which Marie herself identifies as verbally abusive. Yet, later on, the pair laugh off one of the most harrowing instances of abuse — a scene where Malcolm taunted a bathing Marie with details of his past sexual partners, noting how each ex contributed more to the construction of his character than Marie. Though laughter is a normal way of relieving tension, Marie’s ability to later see this situation as comical is unconvincing given the sheer scale of trauma visibly induced in that moment. The gravitational pull of their relationship is not one of love, but hate — a toxic desire to wound the other, and then twist the knife.
Zendaya gives a very convincing performance as Marie. Through her narrowed eyes, slumped stature, and quivering lip, we are able to share her fury, scorn, and brokenness in equal measure. The only element working against the actress is her youthful appearance opposite the markedly older Washington. This is heightened by the overwhelming similarities between Marie and Rue — Zendaya’s prominent teenage role in Euphoria who likewise struggles with drug addiction. With this natural association, the age gap is widened into an age chasm. Levinson previously told The Independent that the age difference was a deliberate choice to emphasise the imbalance of power within their relationship. However, in a patriarchal society, there is already an innate power imbalance. We must then question the motivation to have a half-dressed Zendaya strut through the house while remarking on Malcolm’s use of the “male gaze” in his film. Given Levinson’s obvious gaze on Zendaya, we can never quite figure out if this is a moment of deliberate irony, or just offensively un-aware.
Aesthetics attempt to save this film. The use of black and white adds an artistic depth that almost distracts you from the script. The shades of grey reflect the couple’s limboed existence in a romantic grey area. Cinematographer Marcell Rév’s slow movement through the empty, minimalist house creates a coldness that mirrors the lack of warmth between them.
Where the film falls particularly flat is in its meta-critical analysis of the film industry. A key point of debate in this film is the question of “authenticity” in filmmaking. Marie argues she should have been cast in Malcolm’s movie because she shares a history of drug abuse with the main character. This insistence on authenticity, however, is supremely ironic considering this film about a Black couple was written and directed by a white man. With two Black actors as his mouthpiece, Levinson attempts to position himself outside of whiteness, through his use of the n-word, frequent criticism of “white people” and somewhat cringe-worthy reference to the “Karen” trope. It has been speculated that Levinson is using his Black characters to deflect criticism, allowing him to respond to real-life negative reviews he received in the past by hiding his scorn behind a rant about Black filmmaking in Hollywood.
Indeed, there are many moments where the cross-racial ventriloquism of these characters becomes uncomfortably apparent in their dialogue. Malcolm essentially becomes a caricature of African American slang, adding “ass” after every other word. Likewise, Marie bizarrely suggests Malcolm is more privileged than a white film critic due to his college education.
This becomes a problem of voice. Malcolm’s rage over the LA Times review becomes thunderous; he accuses the white critic of pigeonholing his movie by making it “about race.” However, we must question Levinson’s right to make this critique. While no Black creator wants ‘Black’ to be its own niche sub-genre, some artists do want race to be at the forefront of the discussion. Especially in the example highlighted by Malcolm; he seems almost offended that the movie could be interpreted as a commentary of how women of colour are abused in the American healthcare system. However, in a world where the mistreatment of Black women in the medical industry is constantly overlooked, it would in fact be important to discuss this in an explicitly racial framing.
Overall, Malcolm and Marie could be missed. Although Zendaya and Washington’s performance glitters against the starry night setting, the profound mishandling of the script on the side of Levinson means this film does not quite succeed as the updated Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf it perhaps set out to be.
Malcolm and Marie: All Words and No Meaning
Tyia Burnett
Malcolm and Marie (2020) has a lot that it attempts to clamor at the viewer. However, after hearing such a cacophony of words, I realized I did not hear much at all. The film centers around a fight between Malcolm, a filmmaker, and his younger girlfriend Marie after he fails to thank her in his acceptance speech at his film premiere. While this would be a valid reason for any partner to feel slighted, Marie has even more reason to feel confounded as the film is based upon her experience with substance abuse and attempted suicide. Despite having good content and raising interesting points, Malcolm and Marie does not work. Even with the volatile emotions and fights of the characters, I was left unmoved and confused at the fictitious relationship. Levinson's black and white drama Malcolm and Marie sinks in a sea of Levinson's vanity, despite Zendaya and John David Washington's commitments to bringing the roles to life.
The film is seemingly trying to convince the audience that this is a normal way for couples to fight. From the trailer and promotion, the film appeared to be about a couple struggling through an argument but still fiercely in love with one another. However, in the film, Malcolm and Marie's arguments are bitter and cruel and never end in either taking any accountability for their actions. One scene that stands out specifically is Malcolm's bathroom monologue to Marie. As he tells her of all the women who impacted him much more than her, Malcolm dehumanizes and degrades her. He uses her trauma as emotional fodder in an effort to break her and does not acknowledge how wrong and painful any of it is. Their fights are fought to win rather, and the prize for winning the battle is a brief movement of submission from the other. The couple does not seem to love each other but rather seem bonded in the mutual trauma and codependency that the relationship has brought them. Malcolm supported Marie through her substance abuse, overdose, recovery, and infidelity while Malcolm is coddled by Marie who caters to his insufferable fits of rage and egocentricity.
The film is written by a white writer, Sam Levinson, who also directs the film. Despite the writer of the film being a white man, Malcolm and Marie ventures into the waters of race and privilege and sinks. Its demise lies not in the fact that Levinson is not Black, but rather he uses his actors as a speaker box for his own inadequacies, providing a faux “woke” backdrop for the confessional that unfolds. Levinson based the film upon a fight he had with his wife when he forgot to thank her in an acceptance speech. And while he does not explicitly say it in interviews, it is clear he is also using Malcolm's character to air his grievances with critics. Levinson's previous works include Assassination Nation (2018) and Euphoria (2018). Both pieces have had their fair share of controversy and criticism. However, Levinson's works do have an issue relying heavily on aesthetics and hype to save them from their lack of a message. Malcolm and Marie is a film that has heavy usage of Black voice, without a Black writer. There are multiple cases where the n-word is used, the characters use AAVE, and they also discuss racism and the over politicization of Black art. However, Levinson's point about the over politicization of Black art also feels like Levinson complaining about his art not being seen as political. Euphoria is a show based upon the life of a young woman battling addiction similar to Malcolm's film. While Malcolm is angered by his film being seen as a critique of the American health care system’s treatment of Black women, Levinson's words also work all too well as a cathartic rant about his art being seen as edgy and graphic rather than political and revolutionary critiques of institutions and racism. His emphasis on Black directors' political art and statements about Barry Jenkins’ sexuality are concerning and unnecessary. Still, Levinson's usage of Black directors in the film is discernable as Levinson being angry about his inability to be taken seriously when writing about topics of sexuality, gender, and race. Malcolm and Marie also make some peculiar statements about race, Marie at one point even states that Malcolm has more privilege than an LA Times White female critic. The claim itself is outlandish and shows a lack of understanding of intersectionality and the complexity and danger of moving through the world as a Black man. Also, the characters speak of white people and the white lady from the LA Times so much it feels as though Levinson is desperately trying to convince the audience he's aware of his whiteness and privilege, but the script shows this is not true.
Malcolm's long-winded rant about white critics and film is more about Levinson’s idiosyncratic issues with the film industry and criticism than his character Malcolm. Malcolm’s monologue works far too well as a white man airing his frustrations with people unable to understand his art and having the right to write about whatever he pleases. The film feels less like a complex story of Black love and more of Levinson's anger and indignity with film critics told with Black actors to shield him from his vanity. The richness that race adds to the story changes the narrative from a white man complaining about his films being criticized to an argument with actual depth and valid points. Without the usage of Black actors, the vanity of the film's core argument becomes crystal clear. Malcolm also rants about straight male directors being accused of the male gaze in film, which feels like an attempt to get ahead of the inevitable criticism for his male gaze. Zendaya's character Marie has several unnecessary close-up shots of her body. While removing her stockings, the viewer is only presented with a view of her legs sensuously rolling down the stockings. However, this scene would have worked better with a close-up of her face coming down from the argument. After a bath, Marie wears underwear and a tank top without a bra rather than putting on pajamas. The viewer is given several rear view shots of her, but none of Malcolm. While Marie kisses his torso and lower body, the viewer sees almost nothing. In comparison, every time Malcolm kisses Marie anywhere on her body, the viewer is taken along with the camera following his lips. Yet, Malcolm's speech feels like he's gaslighting the viewer into thinking they are crazy for noticing the male gaze and that is simply a part of the art.
Due to the extensive dialogue and lack of plot, Malcolm and Marie feels like it is made for a stage or a film project rather than a complete work. It’s fighting for everything and nothing at the same time. Malcolm and Marie weave in and out of confrontational monologues laced with kisses and more monologues. While the film is not dull, it feels like being shouted at for nearly two hours. The experience is exhausting and insufferable. The experience is draining, and not for emotional cathartics. The best films transport the viewer into a story and cause the viewer to forget they are watching a film, but Malcolm and Marie fails to enchant its viewers. In addition, Levinson uses too much nuance to discuss issues, and his attack on a female critic comes across as sexist and fanatical. The repeated comments about her incompetence and idiocracy feel incredibly uncomfortable to watch when one realizes Levinson did receive a negative review from a female critic in the LA Times for one of his films. The script was so sure of its was sturdiness and ability to hold up against any criticism, that it did not begin to address the cracks and true issues present with the writing. The film does not provide romance or a tale of complicated love, but instead of a bitter self-absorbed filmmaker who uses Black actors as talk pieces for his issues. My only hope for this film is that Levinson reflects on his reviews rather than creating a film to rage against critics under the guise of Black love.
Louisa Johnson (she/her) is a writer from California, living in London. She has a First Class BA in English Language and Literature from King's College, London and is currently undertaking her MA in Global Creative and Cultural Industries at SOAS. In her spare time she writes about art, issues and current affairs related to Black people and the LGBT+ community on 'The Vital Blog': https://thevitalblog.wordpress.com/. She also co-hosts a podcast called 'The Monstrous Feminine' which discusses women's representation in horror films.
Follow Louisa on Twitter and Instagram: @louisaaajo
Tyia Burnett (she/her) is a recent postgraduate student from SOAS University of London. She studied Global Media and Postnational Communication. She also holds a BA in Political Science with a double minor in Film and Media and Anthropology. She currently works with This Fan Girl as a content creator and is a host of The Monstrous Feminine Podcast. Tyia has a love of film and politics and is inspired by the opportunity to use art as a form of political activism and social awareness.
Follow Tyia on Instagram: @tyiaburnett and Twitter: @hargaqueen