Mank (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

A challenging, glorious piece that is as unexpected as it is familiar, Mank is the first feature film from director David Fincher since 2014. But for those of us hoping for anything resembling Fincher's regular fare, Mank is not what we expected or wanted. It's a biopic that dramatizes the life of screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz as he wrote Citizen Kane, his most famous work. Interestingly, this movie does not attempt to definitively solve the controversy regarding who actually deserves credit for the screenplay between its titular character and Orson Welles -- both of whom won the Oscar for it -- and while it certainly uses popular scrutiny over that question to frame the drama, Fincher veers away from any determinism to instead craft the year's most fascinating character study.

The year is 1940 and Herman "Mank" Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) is dictating his newest screenplay to his assistant (Lily Collins) while recovering from a broken leg. His new director, Orson Welles (Tom Burke), has finally been given complete artistic control over his newest film, and the two eccentric, theatrical personalities clearly will have some conflict, as we can see right away. Mank, nursing himself with alcohol, agrees to take no credit for his work, even as he obsesses over the script. From his assistant to his director, people slowly begin to realize the script screams its dangerous similarities to William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance), a powerful media mogul and political meddler, and try to get Mank to change the material. Refusing to give in, he finally completes it in time, breaks his contract with Welles, and demands credit for what he -- and others -- deem to be his greatest work.

Not perhaps the most interesting plot when described that way, but the meat of Mank lies in its plentiful flashbacks, shown sequentially during the previous decade, as Herman enters the Hollywood scene and hobnobs with the elite. He meets Marion Davies (an amazing Amanda Seyfried), young actress and Hearst's lover, with whom he strikes up a sweet friendship. By ingratiating himself with Hearst, Mank becomes a screenwriter at MGM, ruled by the imposing Louis B. Mayer (Arliss Howard). Of course, Mayer and Hearst -- both wealthy and powerful Republicans in California -- have formed a tight political monopoly on propaganda, and launch a smear campaign against Upton Sinclair, running on a socialist platform. It's interesting to note that these fancy dinner parties are occurring even as the Depression reaches its lowest point and President Roosevelt is unveiling his New Deal. Some of these scenes -- political dialogue and all -- are the most dramatically potent and memorable of the movie, and I can't help but be surprised by Fincher's uncharacteristically timely content.

What's fascinating about this movie is that it's barely about its own plot; otherwise, it would be much easier to follow along, even with its almost inert drama. I think it's deeply about Herman's psychology -- speculative and dubious as it may be -- and about the state of the art. This is no love letter to old Hollywood. The studio system here is as venal and vile as you could imagine, ruled by rich bigwigs and their politics, where no one seems to enjoy their work, much less find interest in moviemaking. And yet, Fincher's typically obsessive control over his craft is palpable, and it is hard not to see this movie as a companion piece to Citizen Kane rather than a movie about its inception. In fact, I immediately rewatched the Welles masterpiece (which I've never much liked, despite the hoopla) and felt that I was seeing it for the first time. Fincher adopts some of the visual style of that landmark movie in his work here, along with cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt, theatrically upstaging crucial elements, casting long dark shadows, and occasionally swirling in some expressionistic imagery just for fun.

Both movies are filmed in black and white, and Fincher even draws little circles in the corners of frames like in a traditional reel change. Mank isn't stark b&w, though, but almost cream and gray, providing more access to a modern audience while quietly shifting our experience from one of fiction to one of dreamlike memory, as if Fincher's drama were a Tennessee Williams play. Why is this interesting? Two reasons, one I think artistically satisfying, and one deeply disturbing. First, this new recreation of classic Hollywood style symbolizes the same kind of pre-Golden Age mythos, disguising a corrupt system of money and politics, that Herman Mankiewicz lived in, loved, and grew to hate. Second, though, is our realization that, especially during the pandemic as cinemas closed and everything went to streaming services, we're watching this movie on Netflix. Netflix and Amazon Prime and Hulu and Disney Plus, among other companies now, are doing exactly what the major studios did before old Hollywood broke up. The companies are in complete control of their means of production and of distribution, controlling their material not in independently owned movie theaters but in millions of screens in every subscriber's home, workplace, and pocket. I can't help but wonder if Fincher's usual thematic interest in the darker sides of humanity is not actually present in Mank, but just hidden better: the major studio system Mank rails against is returning.