MALCOLM & MARIE: FILM REVIEW - THE EXPLOITATION OF BLACKNESS & WOMANHOOD
CW: VERBAL/EMOTIONAL ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ADDICTION & SUICIDE
In Sam Levinson’s Malcom & Marie, its protagonist, Marie (Zendaya), lies in a bathtub in a futile attempt to escape from her boyfriend, Malcolm (John David Washington), as he puts her through torturous, unending verbal abuse. “You may have gotten clean,” he tells her, “but you still haven’t figured this part out yet.” Marie has long gone silent, taking his words the way one would take long foreseen blows to the gut. Even after a prolonged night of abuse, Malcolm continues to berate Marie with seemingly no end in sight. He goes on, despite her choked back tears: “Why you love being hurt, traumatized, and fucking eviscerated?”
I was enthusiastic to watch Sam Levinson’s quarantine creation Malcolm & Marie when it was released on January 29th. This was out of love for Zendaya’s acting in and Levinson’s directing of HBO’s Euphoria. The black-and-white, two character film (with an amazing soundtrack, might I add) advertised itself as one that would explore the disturbing and unappealing traits that turn relationships toxic. The film centers around the story of a dysfunctional couple’s night-long fight following the premier of Malcolm’s movie. I settled excitedly into the opening of the film, but was immediately bored by Malcolm’s extensive and self important monologues.
These monologues are peppered with disinterested one-liners from his girlfriend, Marie, which frame the downfall of their relationship, showcased throughout the night. Malcolm and Marie go on to have several screaming matches that rise in intensity over the duration of the film. Almost the entire movie takes place within the couple’s luxurious home. The only time either of them leave is when Marie escapes into the surrounding fields to urinate, or Malcolm performs a sickeningly masculine air-punching dance.
The film concludes with absolutely no resolution to the hour and forty-six minute conflict, resembling the unfortunately cyclical reality of abusive relationships. The juvenile dialogue and poorly executed plot scratch only the surface of the film’s issues.
Levinson, son of esteemed filmmaker Barry Levinson (well known for films such as Rain Man), has had his fair share of criticism before the release of Malcolm & Marie. Most notably, he has been widely criticized for his overt sexualization of the teenage characters in Euphoria. Further, Levinson received heavy criticism by Los Angeles Times writer Katie Walsh on his film Assassination Nation. Walsh called the film “an ugly exploitation of sexual violence in a hollow quest to indict the way our culture pathologizes female sexuality.” Since the release of Malcolm & Marie, it has been speculated that Walsh’s past comments inspired Levinson’s 2020 script. This almost acts as an unintended parallel in the film, as Malcolm is anxious about the reviews that he’ll receive for his film. Much of Malcolm’s character revolves around his existence as a filmmaker, and more specifically, a black male filmmaker. Malcolm partakes in prolonged, ranted monologues about the film industry and the hold that white members have on black artists.
At the start of the film, Malcolm tells a half-listening Marie, “I’m a filmmaker. And I want to be part of a larger conversation about filmmaking without always having white writers make it about race.” This is all well and good until we consider the fuel to Malcolm’s fiery rants: an unnamed white, female critic often referred to as “Karen” by both Malcolm and Marie. After the critic condemns a violent scene in Malcolm’s film that involves an unnecessarily topless woman, she becomes Malcolm’s verbal punching bag (once he is done with Marie, of course). The themes in Malcolm’s film imply his sexualization of violence against women.
Is this beginning to sound familiar?
From the very start of Malcolm & Marie, I questioned Levinson’s ability to accurately portray black characters. It all became clear to me when I realized that it was never his intention to remain true to black life at all. Rather, Levinson used Malcolm’s blackness as a shield for his own misogyny, and the film as a bedazzled diary of sorts to rant about critics’ (specifically Walsh’s) disagreement with his work. This, then, leaves the question of what Marie is to Levinson and the film itself.
When we come to terms with the film’s romanticization of abuse on both the sides of Malcolm and Marie, we see that Marie exists as nothing more than a writing tool to further the effects of Malcolm’s mistreatment. The attacks on Marie by Malcolm are incredibly violent and hurtful, especially those regarding her sanity, past suicide attempt, and addiction. But unfortunately, they are attacks against women that are often normalized. “You’re psychotic” is a phrase I have heard all too often, and it is problematic enough that the film does practically nothing to discredit statements like these, but it goes further, leaving Marie without the tools to push back. Just like during Malcolm’s rants, Marie’s retorts to his abuse only serve as a tool to progress his senseless lines: the story of his film, his treatment of her, his actions. When the film ends, there is no character growth, plot development, or conclusion of any sort. Malcolm is still the same man he is at the start, and Marie is still stuck in an endless cycle of abuse.
In fact, Marie says it best herself: “It’s about how you see me. And how you view my contribution, not just to this relationship, but to your work.” How does Levinson view the contribution of his black actors to Malcolm & Marie? Does he do right by them, or does he use them as masks for his own problematic behavior and beliefs? I would argue the latter. While Levinson’s film has amazing bones, there is no meat. The sporadic dialogue that takes place between Malcolm and Marie over the course of a single night piqued my interest, but the lack of plot, obvious self-insertion of Levinson, and glorification of abuse is what put the grimace on my face by the film’s end. On the part of Zendaya, Levinson, and Washington, Malcolm & Marie is an overly idealized visualization of what it would be like to be in a relationship with a punching bag (or be the punching bag yourself).
