White Noise (2022)

White Noise is special because it turns everyday American life—shopping aisles, academic posturing, family squabbles—into a stylish, darkly hilarious symphony about the one subject nobody can outtalk: mortality. Noah Baumbach stages Don DeLillo’s satire with a playful, daring confidence, letting the comedy land even as an anxious hum builds underneath, and the cast sells every absurd line with straight-faced conviction. The vibe is effervescent and unsettling at once, like a sitcom that suddenly remembers the universe is indifferent, and it finds surprising poignancy without ever pleading for it. It won’t be for everyone—if you dislike talky, idea-forward humor that revels in discomfort—but if you’re open to something smart, funny, and strange, it’s a bracingly original watch.

White Noise is clearly aiming for a sharp, absurdist satire about modern anxiety, consumer culture, and the way death lurks behind everyday banter, and it commits hard to that weird, talky vibe. The problem is that it often feels like a collection of clever scenes rather than a movie that builds momentum, and when the story shifts gears later on, the tone can wobble into something frustratingly uneven and a bit aimless. If you need a clear plot, emotional grounding, or a payoff that ties everything together, this may feel like a stylish slog that’s more interested in ideas than satisfaction. That said, the performances are game, the dialogue has bite, and there are moments of dark humor and eerie atmosphere that will land if you enjoy cerebral, deliberately off-kilter films.