Fair Play

The 2023 Sundance Film Festival was dominated by one specific headline: Netflix dropping a cool $20 million to acquire a sleek, mean-spirited corporate thriller that felt like a relic from a different era. In an age where streaming services often feel like they’re churning out beige, algorithm-friendly content, Fair Play arrived like a jagged piece of glass in a bowl of oatmeal. It’s a movie that understands a fundamental, uncomfortable truth: sometimes the person you share a bed with is the person most likely to stab you in the back—or at least, the person most likely to resent you for getting a better parking spot.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while my neighbor was loudly practicing the tuba, and the discordant, flat notes drifting through my apartment wall actually served as the perfect, unintentional score for the mounting domestic dread on screen.

The High Cost of the Corner Office

The setup is deceptively simple, echoing the "erotic thrillers" of the late 80s and early 90s, but updated for a generation that measures self-worth in Bloomberg terminal pings. Emily and Luke are a young, attractive, and deeply-in-love couple working at a cutthroat Manhattan hedge fund. They have a secret engagement, a tiny apartment, and a shared ambition that feels like a superpower until a promotion vacancy opens up. Luke expects the call; Emily gets it.

What follows isn’t just a "workplace drama." Director Chloe Domont, who previously cut her teeth writing for high-stakes shows like Billions, crafts a slow-motion car crash of a relationship. She isn't interested in a simple story about glass ceilings. Instead, she digs into the fragile, toxic ego of a man who realizes his "supportive partner" persona was entirely contingent on him being the one in charge. As Emily ascends into the inner circle of the firm's terrifying boss—played with bone-chilling, hushed intensity by Eddie Marsan (who you’ll recognize from Ray Donovan)—Luke doesn't just get jealous. He begins to rot from the inside out.

A Masterclass in Shifting Power

The chemistry between the leads is what makes the subsequent fallout so painful to watch. Phoebe Dynevor, shedding the Regency-era corsets of Bridgerton, is spectacular. She plays Emily with a blend of hyper-competence and a heartbreaking desire to manage her fiancé’s feelings, even as she realizes he’s becoming a threat to her career. On the flip side, Alden Ehrenreich—an actor I’ve championed since Hail, Caesar! and his unfairly maligned turn in Solo: A Star Wars Story—gives a performance that is genuinely hard to stomach in the best way possible.

He manages to make Luke’s descent into "alpha male" self-help tropes and passive-aggressive sabotage feel incredibly real. There is a specific scene involving a vacuum cleaner and a bottle of expensive champagne where Alden Ehrenreich looks like a wet cardboard box of a human being, and it’s one of the most effective depictions of male entitlement curdling into malice I’ve seen in years. The film leans into the discomfort, refusing to give the audience an easy out or a traditional "hero" moment.

Streaming Era Stakes and "The Talk"

Released in the thick of the post-pandemic streaming pivot, Fair Play feels like a movie designed to be talked about on social media. It bypasses the traditional "prestige" tropes of period dramas and instead engages directly with the #MeToo era’s lingering questions about power and consent. It’s not just about who gets the raise; it’s about how corporate structures demand a specific kind of performance from women—one where they have to be "one of the boys" while simultaneously never outshining the men in their personal lives.

The cinematography by Menno Mans deserves a shout-out for making a modern office look like a high-tech dungeon. The lighting is cold, the colors are muted, and the camera lingers on the characters' faces just a second too long, forcing us to witness every flicker of doubt and rage. It’s a film that thrives on claustrophobia, moving from the cramped desks of the trading floor to the increasingly stifling confines of the couple’s apartment.

I’ve heard some critics argue the final act goes "too far," pivoting into a tonal shift that borders on horror. I disagree. I think the escalation is the point. In a world where your value is tied to your year-end bonus, the line between a boardroom negotiation and a domestic assault becomes terrifyingly thin. It’s a cynical, sharp, and deeply entertaining look at how the "fair play" of the corporate world is anything but.

Fair Play is a reminder that you don't need a massive budget or a superhero IP to create genuine tension. It’s a film that uses the contemporary anxiety of the "lean-in" era to fuel a classic psychological thriller. By the time the credits rolled, I felt like I needed a shower and a career change, which is exactly the reaction Chloe Domont was aiming for. If you’re looking for a date-night movie, maybe skip this one—unless you’re both feeling very, very secure in your relationship.