No Sleep Till Babylon
But ya better have a nap first.
Meanwhile, back at the Cineplex, Babylon is really long (3 hours and 9 minutes) so I wouldn’t recommend too many pregame margaritas before settling in and setting your seat on full recline. But with fair warning and proper planning, it’s a pretty good picture show (with the ravishing Margot Robbie showing beaucoup de side boob) in this spectacle of the spectacle behind the scenes of rip roaring and snorting 1920s Hollywood. And is well worth the reduced price of a Tuesday night admission, although I would’ve appreciated an intermission (always the best part of a night at the theater, be it movie or Broadway).
Somehow, even at its epic length, Babylon kept my attention even when Ms. Robbie wasn’t running around half naked, screaming her pretty frizzy head off, doing mountains of blow, fighting rattlesnakes or projectile vomiting as Nellie LaRoy, the new wild child in a town that’s already pretty off the hooker. If Margot isn’t the best actress of the year, (thanks to Anya Taylor-Joy because, well, Anya Taylor-Joy) Robbie’s certainly the busiest and arguably the ballsiest.
Also memorably along for the joyride are Brad Pitt as Jack Conrad, a silent film superstar about to be shot down by the coming of sound and Diego Calva as Manny Torres, whose rags to riches to rags story parallels Nellie’s rise and decline from fame, only as a behind the scenes, up and coming go getter rather than on screen scene stealer. Notable as Hell as well are Eric Roberts as Nellie’s dad and inept manager Robert Roy, a role that would have been perfect for Harry Dean Stanton circa 1980 and Tobey Macguire as James Makay a notorious gangster with a taste for exotic cocktails (brandy and ether, anyone?) among other perverse predilections that run about four stories deep into tinsel town’s depraved underbelly. Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers also spices things up as Bob Levine, a tough talking studio honcho who will do whatever it takes it to get on with the show.
Yes sirree Bob Evans, a lot of crazy shite happens here. So much so that Babylon is in need of some serious editing and is exhibit A when it comes to making a case that writers should not be allowed to direct their own stories. Clearly, writer/director Damien Chazelle is too in love with every sacred syllable to know when to say when and enough is more than enough.
At one point close to the three hour mark, Babylon even dares to go into slow motion and includes a 2001: A Space Odyssey-like psychedelic sequence that would have been better ended up on the editing room floor than up on the silver screen.
Propelling the whole madcap mess along is Justin Hurwitz’ music that alternates between ballroom blitzes of which Jay Gatzby would approve, old sport and melancholy piano melodies to suit the pictures few less than chaotic interludes. In rocking retrospect it would have been cool if the seemingly endless closing credits had included the Misfits’ Hollywood Babylon, Babylon by the New York Dolls and/or Iggy Pop’s Real Wild Child. But hey, that’s just the DJ in moi, though I bet Scorsese would have included the Dolls’ tune.
So, like this review’s headline goes, No Sleep Till Babylon, but you better have a nap first or attend a matinee rather than making it an evening endurance contest. For a taste of what awaits, click below to check out the trailer and whet your appetite. Then proceed to the theater, if, like Eve said to Adam, you’d care for a bite.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed the ride, please check out the other stories on my Movie Reviews list.
And if you haven’t already, please subscribe to my elite email list, so as not to miss a dose of caustic critiques, wisecracking wisdom, flashy fiction, and whatever else comes to my over-stimulated mind!
Finally, if this is your last free story of the month, why not join the Medium team as a paid member? For less than five bucks a month you can read until your eyes bleed and go down more literary rabbit holes than Buffalo has snow!
© 2022 by Spyder Darling