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Review: Bedroom and boardroom intrigue abounds in Netflix’s wickedly entertaining ‘Fair Play’

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Review: Bedroom and boardroom intrigue abounds in Netflix’s wickedly entertaining ‘Fair Play’

Chloe Domont’s “Fair Play,” a smart, crackling thriller about sex, money, gender and power in the modern age, begins with a wickedly funny omen. Emily (Phoebe Dynevor) and Luke (Alden Ehrenreich), hot and horny and deliriously happy, have slipped away from a wedding reception (not theirs) for a bathroom quickie — an ill-timed tryst in every sense, leaving Emily’s dress and Luke’s lips stained with menstrual blood. They gasp in shock but laugh it off; they’re too drunk, on booze and each other, to worry about what everyone will think. And then Emily spies the ring that’s slipped out of Luke’s pocket, spurring him to drop clumsily to one knee, red of lip but gallant of spirit, and offer up a sweet if singularly indecent proposal.

By next sunrise, the newly engaged lovers have sobered up, and the question of what everyone will think reasserts itself. A clever sequence chronicles their morning ritual at their Chinatown apartment, as they scrub away any hint of romantic afterglow, don trim, dark suits and head off on their own separate ways — and arrive, almost simultaneously, in the same elevator of the same Lower Manhattan glass-and-steel fortress. Emily and Luke are both junior analysts at a hedge fund, One Crest Capital, and their relationship is a violation of corporate policy. So far they’ve managed to keep it off the books, hoping that someday soon they’ll be successful enough to go public without fear of repercussions.

But what if one of them succeeds and the other doesn’t? Specifically, what if Luke, though rumored to be in line for a promotion, turns out to be just another Wall Street mediocrity, soon to be kicked to the curb if he doesn’t quit in frustration or jump out a window first?

And what if Emily, who’s been quietly knocking ’em dead for months, is summoned to have a drink in the middle of the night with the big boss, Campbell (Eddie Marsan, icily mesmerizing), and told that she’s the company’s newest portfolio manager? In some ways, we already know the answer as soon as Emily anxiously returns home to deliver the good news. Luke’s first reaction is to wonder if Campbell made a pass at her, an expression of concern that is also, of course, the ultimate insult. And as the truth sinks in, not even his stiffly congratulatory smile (“I’m so f— proud of you,” he says, a little too forcefully) can conceal the shock and resentment in his eyes.

Alden Ehrenreich and Phoebe Dynevor in the movie “Fair Play.”

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(Menno Mans / T-Street)

Things clearly aren’t going to end well. But if “Fair Play” spends the better part of two hours tracing this newly lopsided romance to its logical, unhappy conclusion, the blow-by-blow machinations are still a chilly wonder to behold. What gives the movie its driving tension isn’t just the glaring imbalance between Emily and Luke as employees, but a deeper incompatibility between the personal and professional imperatives they’ve chosen. Modern romance insists on projecting at least the illusion of equality, but the cutthroat capitalist world in which Emily thrives (and where Luke struggles to maintain a foothold) has no real use for appearances. You‘ve either got it or you don’t.

The tension builds slowly but deliciously, as the leads lock us into an ostensible battle of the sexes that neither character can win. Ehrenreich, whose dark-princeling good looks can curdle at will, makes Luke a fascinating swirl of ego, entitlement and fragility. He fumes in silence at his desk, listening as his co-workers speculate about who Emily must have screwed or screwed over to get ahead. (Does he want to defend her honor or join the pile-on?) Compounding his humiliation, he now reports to Emily, answering her questions, taking her orders and offering buy-or-sell recommendations that she has the power to accept or reject.

A man and a woman, having just taken a shower, stand in front of a bathroom mirror.

Alden Ehrenreich and Phoebe Dynevor in the movie “Fair Play.”

(Netflix)

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Domont, making a sharply assured feature debut, knows her way around these gleaming corridors of power. (Her TV credits include episodes of “Suits,” “Ballers” and “Billions.”) What she’s mounted here is less a throwback than an up-to-the-minute rejoinder to corporate thrillers like “Wall Street” and “Disclosure,” among other touchstones of the ’80s and ’90s Michael Douglassance. A lot may have changed since then (the technology, for starters), and also since the rapacious ’60s sexism of “Mad Men,” an allusion prompted by Rich Sommer’s sly performance as Campbell’s silky No. 2.

But “Fair Play” knows that less has changed than we‘d like to tell ourselves, and not even the ostensible reforms of #MeToo can chase away the inherent misogyny of the elite corporate class. On the contrary, the genuine progress that Emily’s elevation represents can all too easily be weaponized against her, dismissed as a sop to political correctness over merit. And if Domont has a sharp ear for the breathlessly impenetrable jargon of high finance, she’s also keenly attuned to the piggish wisecracks that pass for small talk. For Emily, a bad day means Campbell calling her a “dumb f— bitch” to her face; a good night means proving she can roll with the boys and celebrate a six-digit commission at the local strip club.

Shooting through glass partitions and around multi-screen computer terminals, Domont extracts drama and meaning not just from her characters’ desperate glances and conspiratorial whispers, but also from the very layout of the office itself, where the hierarchies are etched into the floor plan and the ugly fluorescent lighting exposes every lie and magnifies every tension. She and her cinematographer, Menno Mans, draw a stark visual contrast with Emily and Luke’s dimly lit, sparsely furnished apartment, where their once-loving dynamic struggles to reassert itself. The movie keeps following them back and forth, between boardroom and bedroom, turning these public and private worlds into complementary, near-contiguous war zones.

Two men in suits have a drink in a bar.

Rich Sommer, left, and Eddie Marsan in the movie “Fair Play.”

(Sergej Radovic / Netflix)

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“Fair Play” doesn’t entirely avoid a trap common to its subgenre, namely that what happens at the office is inevitably more scintillating — and persuasive — than damn near everything else. At home, Luke spirals, sputters and loses himself in self-help banalities, while Emily tries in vain to re-energize their sex life, a subplot that puts maybe too fine a point on her fiancé’s professional impotence. Some late family drama creeps in from the sidelines, but it feels like an unnecessary distraction, an attempt to add yet more stories to an already precarious house of cards. It all falls apart spectacularly, of course, with two tough, punitive scenes of violence — one utterly horrifying, the other undeniably satisfying. Rarely has “cutting your losses” taken on such cathartic new meaning.

‘Fair Play’

Rating: R, for pervasive language, sexual content, some nudity and sexual violence

Running time: 1 hour, 53 minutes

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Playing: Starts Sept. 29 at Landmark Pasadena Playhouse; Landmark Theatres Sunset, West Hollywood; the Landmark Westwood; starts streaming Oct. 6 on Netflix

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A sultry scene shifts in 'The Brutalist'

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A sultry scene shifts in 'The Brutalist'

The architectural wonder of writer-director Brady Corbet’s 215-minute postwar immigrant epic “The Brutalist” astonishes onscreen. The ambitious spectacle, which follows László Toth (Adrien Brody) chasing his American Dream, only to be upended by a tycoon (Guy Pearce), was captured on VistaVision for its visceral widescreen imagery. The striking photography from cinematographer Lol Crawley suggests themes of modernity versus classicism — the waters of the Statue of Liberty, the majestic quarries of Carrara, Italy — but a sensual magnetism seeps into the visual style as well. Its full extent is on display during an underground party where László drinks and dances with a woman (Dóra Sztarenki). Filming in Budapest, Crawley minimally lighted the moody moment, which reverberates with a sultry version of “You Are My Destiny.” The camera drifts, hinting to an ominous figure looking from above. “What’s wonderful about that scene is that we start on the woman’s legs as she walks in, and then she has this flirtatious dance with Laszlo,” Crawley says. “It’s all handheld, shot in an almost documentary way to give the actors freedom in the space. So it’s this real gentle balance, which in many ways was wonderful and liberating.” It’s a gentle moment that soon turns brutal.

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Movie Review | 'Nosferatu'

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Movie Review | 'Nosferatu'

Robert Eggers’s take on the 1922 F.W. Murnau film “Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror” has long been a passion project for the director, in various stages of development since he broke out with 2015’s “The Witch.” Now that the film has finally made its way to screens, Eggers has the opportunity to shine. And like any of his films, “Nosferatu” has mood and style to spare.

Eggers’s movies always have great attention to detail, but sometimes the style can outweigh the story and “Nosferatu” is no different. “The Witch” was about setting a moody atmosphere and “The Northman” was about showing off the muscularity in his filmmaking and in between he made arguably his best movie, “The Lighthouse,” which is a bizarre, fever dream kind of experience.

In the first frames of “Nosferatu,” Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) emerges from the shadows with tears running down her face. She is calling out to something, but nothing is there. What is making her body move in such unpleasant ways? Who is the mysterious voice calling out to her? From the shadows emerges a silhouette of Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård), who is haunting Ellen.



Years later, Ellen is in a relationship with Thomas (Nicholas Hoult, who is having a busy year between “Nosferatu,” “Juror #2” and “The Order”). Thomas is heading to Transylvania to meet with Count Orlock, foreshadowing a great deal of dread in the movie. Back home,  Ellen is not doing well, constantly haunted by the looming presence of Count Orlock, who will not let her know peace.

Not only does Count Orlock hang over Ellen’s life, but his existence hangs over the entire movie. Eggers effectively uses the character sparingly, shooting him in shadows and only revealing his face every so often. It’s best to go into the movie surprised by the design, because Eggers certainly doesn’t settle for recreating the well-established imagery from the original film. Skarsgård, who is becoming a horror film regular, is nowhere to be found in his performance, completely disappearing behind the character.

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Depp delivers the strongest performance of her young career, as she is required to run the gauntlet of emotional and physical pain. Her suffering helps bring some emotion to the movie, which can occasionally feel cold and distant in service of emphasizing the film’s craft. Individual moments of dread feel palpable, but the movie goes through plodding stretches (including with superfluous characters played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin; Eggers regular Willem Dafoe also plays a role), where the emotionality of Depp’s performance and the grim appearance of Skarsgård become sorely missed.

Even when the movie is choppy, it’s hard to not get lost in the impeccability of the craft. Egger and cinematographer Jarin Blaschke partially use natural lighting to establish the mood, while production designer Craig Lathrop transports viewers to 1838 Germany. Getting lost in the world of “Nosferatu” isn’t hard — though sometimes being moved by it as a whole is a tough task.

“Nosferatu” is currently playing in theaters.

Matt Passantino is a contributor to CITY.






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Beyoncé brings 'Cowboy Carter' to the NFL on Netflix

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Beyoncé brings 'Cowboy Carter' to the NFL on Netflix

Beyoncé brought her album “Cowboy Carter” to life for the first time in a halftime performance at an NFL game on Christmas Day in her hometown of Houston.

The show, which came midway through the Baltimore Ravens’ rout of the Houston Texans at NRG Stadium, was designed to entice viewers to Netflix as the streaming goliath inaugurated a new pact with America’s most popular professional sports league. It also was a way to bring attention to Beyoncé’s latest LP — a detailed excursion into country music that plays up the singer’s Southern roots — just as Recording Academy members cast their votes for February’s Grammy Awards, where “Cowboy Carter” is nominated for album of the year.

Immediately following her performance, Beyoncé posted a brief video on X that suggested she’ll announce something on Jan. 14 — something, whatever it is, that many more fans now are likely to be looking forward to.

For all its cross-promotional synergy, though, Wednesday’s halftime show was a reminder that whatever lures Beyoncé from her superstar cocoon is worth celebrating: As usual for pop music’s greatest live performer, this 13-minute production — a “ho ho ho-down,” as she called it — was a thrill from top to bottom.

The show began with Beyoncé astride a white horse sauntering down a hallway in NRG’s bowels as she sang “16 Carriages,” her ballad about a youth spent on the road chasing showbiz dreams. Soon she was joined by a quartet of Black female country singers — Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy and Reyna Roberts — for a moving rendition of the Beatles’ “Blackbird.”

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Beyoncé emerged onto the stadium field to sing a blistering “Ya Ya,” her version of a classic Tina Turner rave-up, accompanied by a small electric rock band and a huge horn section arrayed on bleachers that called to mind her presentation at the Coachella festival in 2018. Then she did the clubby “My House” before welcoming Shaboozey to join her for “Sweet Honey Buckiin’” and Post Malone for their “Levii’s Jeans” (which they did in front of a pickup truck wrapped in denim).

Beyoncé sang her cover of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” while riding in a car cruising down the field — not unlike her Coachella tribute to HBCU tradition, this was a loving embodiment of Black rodeo culture — and finished the show with her chart-topping “Texas Hold ’Em,” which she did on the 50-yard line while dancing next to her 12-year-old daughter, Blue Ivy.

Throughout the show, Beyoncé’s vocals were strong and precise, the choreography tough and hard-hitting, the costumes beautifully bedazzled — a Christmas gift to her fans in the form of a marketing opportunity.

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