Cyrano

In an era where the mid-budget drama feels like an endangered species—hunted to near-extinction by the twin predators of $200 million superhero sequels and the "straight to streaming" vacuum—Joe Wright’s Cyrano (2021) arrived like a ghost from a more romantic century. It’s a film that shouldn’t have struggled as hard as it did. It’s got a world-class leading man, a visual palette that looks like a Caravaggio painting come to life, and a soundtrack written by members of The National. Yet, it vanished from theaters faster than a secret lover at dawn, earning a measly $3 million against a $20 million budget. I watched this in my living room while my radiator was clanking like a ghost in a Victorian novel, and I couldn't help but feel that we, as an audience, let this one slip through our fingers.

The Man Without the Nose

The most radical thing about this adaptation of Edmond Rostand’s 1897 play isn’t the singing; it’s the lack of a prosthetic nose. For over a hundred years, actors playing Cyrano de Bergerac have strapped on various iterations of a rubber schnoz to symbolize the "deformity" that keeps them from their true love. But here, screenplay writer Erica Schmidt (who also wrote the stage musical) makes a brilliant pivot. By casting Peter Dinklage, the physical barrier isn't a fake nose—it's his stature.

This change breathes a raw, contemporary soul into a very old story. When Peter Dinklage (who many of us still associate with the sharp-tongued Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones) speaks about being unworthy of love, it doesn’t feel like a theatrical gimmick. It feels deeply, painfully personal. He plays Cyrano with a mixture of weary nobility and lethal wit, proving he can out-talk and out-fight anyone in the room, yet he’s absolutely paralyzed by the sight of Haley Bennett as Roxanne. It’s a masterclass in internalizing a character’s shame.

A Period Piece for the Indie Rock Soul

If you go into Cyrano expecting the high-belt, "look at me!" energy of The Greatest Showman, you’re going to be very confused. The music, composed by Aaron and Bryce Dessner of The National with lyrics by Matt Berninger and Carin Besser, is muted, melancholic, and deeply rhythmic. The songs don’t function as showstoppers; they function as sighs. Peter Dinklage doesn't have a traditional "musical theater" voice, and that’s exactly why it works. His baritone is gravelly and honest, sounding like a sullen indie rock band crashing a period piece, and it provides a perfect counterpoint to the lush, operatic visuals.

Director Joe Wright (who gave us that incredible long take in Atonement) is in his element here. He treats the Sicilian filming locations like a stage, using light and shadow to create a world that feels both grounded and ethereal. There's a sequence in the third act involving soldiers writing letters home before a battle ("Wherever I Fall") that is genuinely one of the most moving things I’ve seen in a film from the last decade. It manages to capture the collective anxiety of the "sending your soul through a screen" era we currently live in, despite being set in the 17th century.

The Pandemic’s Forgotten Child

So, why did nobody see it? Timing in the 2020s is everything, and Cyrano had the worst of it. Released during the height of the Omicron surge, it was a movie designed for the big screen that people were too scared to go see. It also suffered from a bit of an identity crisis in its marketing—was it a serious drama? A whimsical musical? A Game of Thrones spin-off for people who missed Westeros?

The supporting cast is excellent, particularly Kelvin Harrison Jr. (who was so good in Luce) as Christian. Usually, Christian is played as a brainless jock, but Harrison gives him a vulnerability that makes you understand why Roxanne might actually fall for him. And then there’s Ben Mendelsohn as the villainous De Guiche. Mendelsohn has basically cornered the market on "elegant creeps" in the streaming era (see: Ready Player One or Rogue One), and here he leans into the decadence with a sneer that practically drips off the screen.

In our current cultural moment, where we spend so much time crafting the "perfect" versions of ourselves on social media, the story of a man hiding behind someone else's beautiful words feels more relevant than ever. Cyrano is the original catfisher, but he does it out of a heartbreaking belief that his true self isn't enough. It’s a film about the bravery it takes to be seen, and even if it didn't set the box office on fire, it’s a discovery well worth making on a quiet, clanking-radiator kind of night.

Ultimately, Cyrano is a reminder that even in an industry obsessed with franchises and "content," there is still room for a filmmaker to take a massive swing at a classic. It’s flawed, sure—some of the pacing in the second act drags like a wet cloak—but the emotional payoff is enormous. If you’ve ever felt like your outside didn't match your inside, this movie is talking directly to you. Hunt it down on your favorite streaming service; it's the kind of "hidden gem" that won't stay hidden forever once word gets out.