Nina (2016)

Nina is at its most compelling when it lets the music and the mood do the talking, capturing the ache, fire, and bruised tenderness that made Nina Simone feel less like a performer and more like a force of nature. Zoe Saldana brings real effort and presence to the screen, leaning into the character’s intensity in a way that creates a few genuinely poignant moments, especially when the film slows down and listens. The vibe is smoky and melancholy, more emotional portrait than clean, cradle-to-grave biography, and it plays like a late-night confession set to jazz and heartbreak. It isn’t for everyone—if you want a definitive, meticulously accurate account, you may leave frustrated—but if you’re open to an imperfect film that still finds flashes of resonance, it’s worth the watch for those moments when the spirit of the music breaks through.

Nina is clearly trying to honor Nina Simone by blending her music, her ambition, and the messy personal relationships that shaped her life into a classic rise-and-fall biopic. The problem is that it often feels like it’s hitting familiar, clichéd beats with a weak script, and the execution can come off amateurish rather than illuminating, which makes the emotional moments land with a thud. The casting and makeup choices have also been a major sticking point for many viewers, pulling focus away from Simone’s artistry and leaving the film feeling, at times, more misguided than reverent. If you’re looking for a nuanced, definitive portrait of Nina Simone, this likely isn’t it—but if you can treat it as a loosely inspired drama with some musical moments, you may find small pockets of value.