Babylon
Decadence, depravity and outrageous excess lead to the rise and fall of several ambitious dreamers in 1920s Hollywood as the industry begins to transition from silent pictures to the world of sound films.
Damien Chazelle
Margot Robbie, Diego Calva, Brad Pitt
Review
Babylon is what happens when you hand a director a blank check, let them binge-watch every movie ever made, and then say, “Go ahead, make whatever you want.” The result? Three hours of cinematic chaos that feels less like a movie and more like being trapped in an overly ambitious fever dream where everything is loud, nothing is subtle, and you’re too exhausted to care by the end.
This film has it all: sex, violence, coarse language, and enough frantic energy to power a small country. Unfortunately, none of it feels cohesive. It’s like a toddler dumped every ingredient from the kitchen into a pot and called it soup. Sure, it’s technically edible, but good luck swallowing it without wondering, “Why did we need this much?”
Let’s talk about the plot—or rather, the overwhelming attempt at a plot. The story ambles along like it’s trying to cram an entire decade of Hollywood’s rise and fall into one movie, only to trip over itself with lavish grandstanding. Babylon aims to be both a love letter to and a critique of early cinema, but it’s so bloated with self-importance that it forgets to include any genuine emotional connection. It’s as if the movie is screaming, “Look at me, I’m profound!” while juggling chainsaws, only to drop them all.
Margot Robbie does what Margot Robbie always does—play a brash, confident woman with a Jersey accent. While she’s undeniably charismatic and talented, it feels like she’s stuck in a loop of similar roles, and here, she’s cranked up to 11. Brad Pitt saunters through the film with his usual charm, but his character is so lost in the noise it’s hard to care. The rest of the cast? Wasted on a script that offers them little more than caricatures to work with.
Visually, Babylon is stunning in a way that’s aggressively in-your-face. Every frame is meticulously crafted, but the relentless intensity of it all is exhausting. A good film balances loud, dramatic moments with quiet ones, giving the audience room to breathe and absorb. Here, the volume knob is broken at maximum, and by the end, you feel like you’ve been bludgeoned by excess.
Oh, and the music? It’s a mixed bag of brilliance and irritation. At its best, it’s captivating. At its worst, it’s so grating you’ll wish you’d brought earplugs.
The film is desperate to say something—anything—about Hollywood, art, and excess, but its messages are either painfully obvious or completely absent when you need them. The metaphors are so heavy-handed they might as well be carrying neon signs that read “SYMBOLISM,” yet when the story could use a touch of nuance, it’s nowhere to be found.
Final Thoughts
Babylon is the cinematic equivalent of an overcooked buffet: there’s too much of everything, and none of it goes together. It borrows from every director, trope, and device imaginable, but instead of creating something original or cohesive, it’s a chaotic mess of half-baked ideas. If you have three hours to kill and a penchant for movies that mistake excess for greatness, Babylon might be worth a watch. For everyone else, save yourself the headache.
