David Cronenberg
Cosmopolis

The arteries are now irreparably compromised by cholesterol. The blood struggles to flow to bring that necessary oxygen to the functioning of vital organs. This impeccable white limousine is haughty and in deep contrast, for its unbridled luxury, with the dangerous and potentially devastating background that surrounds it from all sides. Apparently unaware and indifferent to the external environment, it continues its slow march, challenging the patience of others. It is shaken by hundreds of angry hands, tangibly defaced with scratches, writings, and paint throwings. Surely there must have been fiery phrases shouted, but the young multi-billionaire inside, a vampire of finance, didn't hear them: cork. These wonderful plants, which among other sparse regions of the globe, also grow in our dear Italy, have exceptional properties not only for bottling fine wines but also for soundproofing, insulating. This way, you can bury your head in the sand, watching through tinted windows what you don't want to face.

The young man, who recently crossed the quarter-century mark, has vast wealth and power, but his gaze reveals nothing but deep dissatisfaction: pain, casual sex (Binoche still stunning), even the killing of a human being doesn't disturb him or provoke lasting feelings: instead, they are destined to slide like drops on the inclined windshield. The pursuit of perfection, the desire to control everything makes him inhuman. That gleaming limousine is unscrupulous capitalism, deaf to a planet in decay, and despite the compromised bodywork, it continues unremittingly to the end. I haven't read the book, but the idea is more than interesting. The film adaptation can be talked about endlessly because the extreme way it was shot and the bold choice of the protagonist seems designed to divide the audience between enthusiastic supporters and lines of critics without appeal. The direction was entrusted to Cronenberg, who had to imagine putting a plastic bag over his head, limiting the space for action to a minimum. It's useless to deny that the film, despite its short duration, isn't heavy: many entangled, absurd, and indecipherable dialogues if you arrive at the cinema with tired and half-asleep neurons. Air is missing in many scenes, it deteriorates progressively along with the cleanliness (money and power) of the impeccable and lacquered protagonist. A pivotal point of the work will be the defacement the protagonist must endure; the loss of perfection, followed by an asymmetrical haircut will lead the young protagonist into the clutches of his antagonist, in search of truth he cannot comprehend (the financial crash that has hit him) and will be revealed to him on the filthy carpet of an abandoned apartment by a splendid Giamatti. The power of anomaly that doesn’t care about schemes and forecasts.

I should read the book, but in my opinion, the film is a brick: very well-packaged, but still a brick. There are several interesting points, the choice of the limousine as a knife cutting through butter is ingenious, yet they're sucked into a sea of hyperbolic and useless dialogues (apart from the last scene) where it's hard to understand the real aim beyond bewildering the viewer with words. I believe it could leave the audience sufficiently puzzled for lively post-viewing discussions, but I consider this “Cosmopolis” a missed opportunity considering the initial premises.

2 and a half