Tesla (2020)

Tesla is special because it refuses to shrink a visionary into a tidy museum exhibit; instead, it treats Nikola Tesla like a living voltage—brilliant, elusive, and a little dangerous to hold too closely. Michael Almereyda stages the story with playful, modern interruptions and bold stylistic swerves that make the past feel startlingly present, while Ethan Hawke gives a performance of quiet intensity that suggests a mind always racing ahead of the room. The vibe is part period drama, part art-film riff on fame, money, and invention, with moments of wit and melancholy that linger like afterimages from a bright light. It won’t be for everyone if you want a straightforward, fact-by-fact biopic, but if you’re open to something imaginative and unexpectedly moving, it’s a fascinating spark of a film.

Tesla (2020) clearly wants to be a clever, meta-biopic—less a cradle-to-grave history lesson and more an essay about how we mythologize geniuses, with Ethan Hawke giving Tesla a quiet, watchable melancholy. The problem is the film’s modern asides and deliberately fragmented structure often keep you at arm’s length from the man and the drama, so scenes can feel like ideas about Tesla rather than a story you’re actually living. It’s also slow, and when it leans into anachronistic flourishes, it can come off as self-conscious instead of illuminating. If you want a traditional, emotionally gripping historical drama or a clear explanation of Tesla’s achievements, this will likely frustrate you—but if you enjoy experimental biopics with stylish odd choices and a reflective tone, there’s something intriguing here.