Maybe no-dating policies in the workplace are a good idea. That’s certainly one of the takeaways, though undoubtedly a shallow one, from Chloe Domont’s fiery directorial debut Fair Play, which was a massive hit at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, before – unfortunately – being picked up by Netflix for distribution. I say “unfortunately,” because you’d really be better off seeing Fair Play with a large and enthusiastic crowd. Though comparing Domont’s film too closely to notable works from the heyday of the erotic thriller, such as Adrian Lyne’s Fatal Attraction (as some critics have), feels misdirected, her efforts nevertheless harken back to a time when studios would readily throw money at a mid-budget thriller for adults, relying on the force of two exceptional performances over recognizable brands or special effects.
Conceptually, Fair Play is relatively simple, though loaded with plenty of thorny, potentially exhausting subtext. Ambitious financial analysts Emily (Phoebe Dynevor) and Luke (Alden Ehrenreich) are a recently engaged couple, working at the same high-power hedge fund, where they must keep their relationship a secret in order to skate past the company’s no-dating policy. When Emily is unexpectedly given a coveted promotion by their boss, Campbell (a particularly icy Eddie Marsan), the couple’s new dynamic sets off a gradually simmering resentment in Luke that threatens to completely derail their relationship and hard-fought careers. In many ways a film about the nuance of gender politics in relation to finance and power, Fair Play may represent a worst-case scenario for its unfortunate couple, but its searing observations about fragility and the male ego don’t feel too far off from reality.
Of course, films like Fair Play live and die by the performances. Luckily, Dynevor and Ehrenreich are completely up to task. Ehrenreich, in particular, gives perhaps the greatest performance of his young career. The actor, who made a magnificent impression as cowboy-actor-turned-normal actor Hobie Doyle in the Coen Brother’s otherwise baffling Hail, Caesar!, plays the sniveling, often-pathetic Luke with just enough empathy to keep him from being totally insufferable. The not-so-secret aggression hiding behind his initially stoic façade is genuinely unnerving, and he absolutely throws himself into several of the film’s most excruciatingly tense and awkward sequences. There were multiple moments during this critic’s particular screening where audience members let out audible gasps and groans, especially during a pivotal interaction between Ehrenreich and Marsan that impressively straddles the line between hilarious, awkward and tragic.
It may be cliché to say at this point, but Dynevor, previously known for her supporting role in Netflix’s Bridgerton, is a major revelation as Emily. More or less the film’s protagonist, she’s certainly more level-headed than Luke, but as the third act proves, maybe just as secretly unhinged. Domont crucially never paints either of her lead characters as outright villains, instead letting them exist realistically within the brutal environment of the financial industry, which encourages its employees to see their colleagues less as people than rocks to step over. It would be no surprise, then, that a relationship would have a hard time surviving in this competitive climate, especially when you add it to an already-toxic cocktail of gender-based insecurity and psychosexual power dynamics. Ehrenreich and Dynevor’s chemistry together is authentically charming to the point that, in the initial stages of Fair Play’s gradually spiraling narrative, you keep hoping they’ll find a way to work it out. The surprising frankness of the film’s sex scenes, as well, feels more genuine than what you’d typically find in a movie of this type.
Initially exhilarating, Domont’s screenplay does begin to lose some steam in the back half, especially as characters like Luke go completely off the rails. At 113 minutes, it’s probably too long, and feels like it hits its emotional and thematic climax several different times before it actually arrives at the final scene. Those final few minutes, themselves, are a marvel of both performance and nerve, but the extremity of the character’s actions simply doesn’t feel properly built to in the way that justifies such an otherwise great scene. There’s also a definite imbalance between the interiority given to Luke and Emily in the film’s final third, where some of the previously compelling nuance of their relationship gives way to an eagerness to shock. It takes a certain suspension of disbelief, perhaps too much, to buy that Emily, perceptive and capable as she is, would be unable to tell that her fiancée was this much of a manbaby prior to their work-related drama. Given the scorching tone of Domont’s screenplay and direction, this disappointing shallowness makes it all a bit difficult to take seriously.
It’s nevertheless encouraging to see that a film like this can still be made, even if it’s going to the wrong venue. Imperfect, but bolstered just enough by some very well-chosen leads, Fair Play is a strong calling card for Domont, and a thankful return-to-form for Ehrenreich, who felt misused in mediocre studio flicks like Solo: A Star Wars Story or this year’s awful Cocaine Bear. When taken on its own terms, it’s undoubtedly a skillful psychodrama, if not exactly the edge-of-your-seat erotic thriller that was advertised. Unfortunately, the recent purchase of Richard Linklater’s TIFF-sensation Hit Man, also by Netflix, only further signals that the future of these types of movies rests almost exclusively with streaming services. As long as they have the money to overpower other bidders, companies like Netflix or Apple TV+ will buy up promising debuts and undoubtedly bury them the second something shinier and newer comes out. I promise you, that final cut-to-black plays better in a theater, where one character’s cathartic, tension-releasing exhale rests not just on the screen, but with the audience as well.
The post Fair Play appeared first on Spectrum Culture.