Babylon

I remember watching the first ten minutes of Babylon while nursing a slightly lukewarm cup of decaf and wearing mismatched socks, and thinking quite clearly: Damien Chazelle has finally lost his mind, and I am absolutely here for it. It starts with an elephant defecating directly onto a camera lens (and a very unfortunate truck driver played by J.C. Currais), and frankly, it only gets more unhinged from there.

In an era where every major studio release feels like it was focus-grouped into a smooth, inoffensive pebble, Babylon is a jagged, neon-soaked boulder. It’s an R-rated, $80 million swing at a time when Hollywood is terrified of anything that doesn't have a "Part 2" attached to it. While it famously crashed and burned at the box office—earning less than its budget and leaving critics deeply divided—that’s exactly why it’s already cementing itself as a contemporary cult classic. It’s a movie that demands you either love it or loathe it; there is no middle ground in the "Babylon Hive."

The Beautiful, Filthy Chaos

The story follows three main threads through the late 1920s as silent films give way to the "talkies." We have Manny (Diego Calva), the wide-eyed fixer who wants to be part of something bigger; Nellie LaRoy (Margot Robbie), a self-proclaimed star who walks onto a set and devours it whole; and Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt), a fading matinee idol who realizes the world is starting to outgrow him.

Margot Robbie delivers what I genuinely believe is her most fearless performance here. She’s a hurricane in a red dress, vibrating with a desperate, tragic energy. There’s a scene where she has to film her first "sound" take—involving a temperamental microphone, a sweating crew, and a lot of shattered glass—that is one of the most stressful and hilarious sequences I’ve seen in years. It captures the sheer technical nightmare of early cinema in a way that feels oddly relevant to our current AI-disrupted landscape.

Then there’s Diego Calva, who acts as our anchor. While the movie around him is screaming at the top of its lungs, his quiet yearning for the magic of the silver screen is what keeps the three-hour runtime from feeling like a chore. He’s the fan in all of us, watching the chaos and thinking, "Yeah, this is terrible, but isn't it wonderful?"

A Score That Never Quits

If you’re looking for a reason to watch this, look no further than Justin Hurwitz. His score for Babylon is a masterpiece of aggressive, percussive jazz that sounds like a heartbeat after ten espresso shots. He famously spent three years working on it, and you can hear every bit of that obsession. The track "Voodoo Mama" is a recurring motif that basically forces the characters (and the audience) into a state of kinetic frenzy.

Apparently, the rehearsal for the massive party scene at the beginning of the film took weeks of choreography, and Margot Robbie did so much dancing that she reportedly went through multiple pairs of shoes just in the rehearsal phase. That level of "too much-ness" is baked into the film's DNA. Linus Sandgren’s cinematography matches this energy, with whip-pans and long, soaring takes that make you feel like you’re dodging flying champagne corks and loose tigers. It’s a sensory assault that makes The Great Gatsby look like a library reading.

Why It Matters Right Now

In our current moment of franchise fatigue and "safe" streaming content, Babylon feels like a middle finger to the algorithm. It’s a movie about the industry made by someone who clearly loves the art but might actually despise the business. It captures that specific Hollywood cycle we’re seeing today: the way technology (then sound, now streaming and AI) destroys careers while birthing new ones, and how the "dream factory" is often just a meat grinder with better lighting.

Turns out, the polarizing ending—a kaleidoscopic montage that charts the history of cinema—was kept top secret during production. Even the cast didn't see the full sequence until the premiere. It’s a sequence that is essentially a three-hour coke binge that ends in a history lecture, and while some found it pretentious, I found it deeply moving. It’s Chazelle’s way of saying that even if these people were monsters and the sets were death traps, the light on the screen remains eternal.

The film also does a fantastic job of highlighting the people the history books usually ignore. Jovan Adepo is stellar as Sidney Palmer, a Black trumpet player forced to navigate the humiliating racial politics of the era. His storyline provides a necessary, sobering contrast to the drug-fueled antics of the white leads, reminding us that for many, the "Golden Age" was anything but.

Babylon isn't a "nice" movie. It’s loud, it’s gross, it’s far too long, and it’s occasionally exhausting. But it’s also the kind of ambitious, auteur-driven filmmaking that we’re losing more of every year. I’d rather watch Chazelle fail spectacularly while shooting for the stars than watch a "competent" movie that I’ll forget by the time I reach the parking lot. If you have three hours and a high tolerance for beautiful chaos, turn the volume up and let the madness wash over you. It’s a hell of a ride.