Irrational Man

Most philosophy professors walk into a classroom to argue about whether a chair actually exists. Abe Lucas, played with a wonderfully rumpled, pot-bellied cynicism by Joaquin Phoenix, walks into a classroom and wonders if he should even bother sitting in the chair at all. By the time we meet him in Irrational Man, Abe has reached the end of his intellectual rope. He’s a man who has "written enough books to paper a room" but hasn't found a single reason to stop drinking single-malt scotch out of a flask during faculty mixers.

I watched this film on a Tuesday evening while trying to ignore a persistent squeak in my floorboards that I’m 90% sure is a ghost or a very judgmental mouse. Somehow, that minor domestic annoyance felt like the perfect accompaniment to a movie where the protagonist is driven to madness by the sheer, grinding noise of his own thoughts. Joaquin Phoenix is the master of the "intellectually bloated" look here—he plays Abe as a man who has swallowed too many big ideas and is now suffering from chronic spiritual indigestion.

The Morality of the Macabre

The plot kicks into gear when Abe and his bright, slightly-too-infatuated student Jill (Emma Stone) overhear a conversation in a diner. A woman is losing her children because of a corrupt judge. For Jill, it’s a tragedy to be discussed over herbal tea. For Abe, it’s a lightbulb moment. He decides that the only way to make his life "meaningful" is to commit a "perfect" murder—eliminating the judge to make the world a marginally better place.

Suddenly, the man who couldn't get out of bed is skipping through the Newport, Rhode Island streets. It’s a classic Woody Allen setup: the moral thriller disguised as a breezy summer comedy. Watching this movie feels like being trapped in a faculty lounge with a guy who just discovered Nietzsche and won't stop talking about his "darkness." It’s a tonal tightrope walk. One minute, Abe and Jill are discussing Kant’s categorical imperative; the next, they’re playing games at a local fair, all while Abe is secretly planning a homicide with the giddy energy of a kid planning a birthday party.

Stone, Posey, and the Professor

Emma Stone is the film’s heartbeat, though her character often feels like she was written by someone who hasn't spoken to a college student since the Nixon administration. She brings a spark to Jill that makes you believe, if only for a second, that a brilliant girl would find a depressed, flask-wielding professor "fascinating" rather than "exhausting." Then there’s Parker Posey as Rita, a fellow professor who is desperate for Abe to rescue her from a stagnant marriage. Parker Posey is an absolute delight, playing a woman who is essentially a walking nerve ending, vibrating with a mix of gin and desperation.

The chemistry here is less about romance and more about how these women react to Abe’s newfound "vitality." Once he decides to kill, his impotence (both literal and metaphorical) vanishes. It’s a cynical take on the human condition—that we only feel alive when we’re playing God—but it’s delivered with the bright, golden cinematography of Darius Khondji, who also shot Uncut Gems and Midnight in Paris. The film looks like a postcard, which makes the dark undercurrents feel even more subversive.

Behind the Blackboard

For a film that didn't set the box office on fire, Irrational Man has a lot of that "late-career auteur" energy that sparks heated debates in film circles. Here’s some of the stuff you might have missed:

Joaquin Phoenix reportedly put on weight for the role because he felt Abe should look physically "heavy" with his existential crisis, steering away from the typical "lean, tortured intellectual" trope. The film’s soundtrack is dominated by "The 'In' Crowd" by the Ramsey Lewis Trio. It’s a jaunty, repetitive jazz track that plays during almost every major scene, creating a sense of manic obsession that mirrors Abe’s descent. This was the second of two consecutive films Emma Stone made with Woody Allen (the first being Magic in the Moonlight), cementing her briefly as his mid-2010s muse before she went on to win her Oscar for La La Land. The Newport, Rhode Island setting wasn't just for the views; the production actually utilized the University of Rhode Island and Salve Regina University, giving it a very specific "New England ivory tower" vibe that feels authentic to the philosophy-bro subculture. Longtime Woody Allen fans will notice the massive parallels to his earlier work Match Point and Crimes and Misdemeanors*, though this version trades the operatic drama for a more absurdist, almost slapstick approach to murder.

A Modern Existential Crisis

Released in 2015, Irrational Man landed right as the landscape of "prestige" cinema was shifting toward streaming. It’s a film that feels like it belongs in a theater—it demands your focus on the dialogue—but its modest $27 million box office shows how these mid-budget, talky dramas were starting to struggle against the tide of franchise dominance. Today, it feels like a curious relic of a time when we still went to the multiplex to watch two people argue about Dostoyevsky.

The film’s greatest strength is its refusal to make Abe a hero. Even when he thinks he’s doing something "noble," the script constantly reminds us that he’s just a narcissist who found a dangerous new hobby. It’s a dark, weird, and often funny look at how easily the human mind can justify the unthinkable. It doesn't quite reach the heights of Allen’s best work, but with Joaquin Phoenix at the helm, it’s a fascinating character study of a man who decided that "doing" was much more fun than "thinking."

Ultimately, Irrational Man works because it doesn't take its own philosophy too seriously. It’s a cynical little puzzle box that shows how a "perfect" plan is usually undone by the most mundane human errors. While the ending might feel a bit like a "final exam" question you didn't study for, the journey through Abe's warped psyche is worth the tuition. It’s a darkly comedic reminder that the smartest people in the room are often the ones you should trust the least.