Vice (2018)

Vice is special because it turns recent political history into a brash, darkly funny anatomy of power—part backstage farce, part cold-eyed cautionary tale—told with the kind of cinematic swagger most “important” movies forget to have. Adam McKay keeps the pace punchy and the satire sharp, using humor not to soften the subject, but to make the implications land harder, while Christian Bale’s astonishing transformation anchors the film with a performance that’s both unsettling and weirdly mesmerizing. Around him, Amy Adams and Steve Carell bring bite and nuance, making the world feel lived-in rather than lecture-y, and the craft is lively enough to keep you leaning forward even when you think you already know the headlines. It’s not for everyone—if you want a neutral, evenhanded civics lesson, the movie’s aggressive point of view may grate—but if you’re in the mood for a smart, provocative ride that makes politics feel immediate and cinematic, it’s a hell of a watch.

Vice is clearly trying to turn recent U.S. political history into a punchy, satirical cautionary tale, using comedy and shock cuts to keep the anger and absurdity front and center. The problem is that Adam McKay’s hyperactive, gimmick-heavy style can feel more like a clever presentation than a coherent story, with jumpy pacing and tonal whiplash that may leave you exhausted rather than enlightened. If you want a measured, deeply sourced political drama that trusts the audience to connect the dots, this one can come off shallow and scattershot, even when it’s making serious points. Still, Christian Bale’s transformation is genuinely impressive, and the film has enough sharp moments to work if you’re in the mood for a loud, editorialized, darkly funny take rather than a clean, traditional biopic.