It’s a strange thing to look back on 2020. For many of us, it feels like yesterday — and at the same time, like an entire lifetime ago. The Covid-19 pandemic remains one of the most profound global traumas in recent memory, a period of uncertainty and division that reshaped how we see ourselves and each other. Yet, despite its enormity, cinema has been oddly hesitant to tackle those months head-on. Enter Ari Aster’s Eddington, a film that doesn’t just acknowledge the pandemic — it grabs it by the horns and twists it into something darkly comic, audacious, and uncomfortably real.
This is Aster’s fourth feature film, and once again he refuses to stay in one lane. Hereditary and Midsommar cemented his reputation as a modern horror master. Beau Is Afraid divided audiences with its surreal odyssey and unflinching weirdness. Eddington is something else again: a satirical Western wrapped inside a pandemic-era comedy, stripped of overt horror but still pulsing with dread and absurdity. Aster himself has described it as “a Western, but the guns are phones,” and that line alone gives you a sense of the film’s bizarre brilliance.
At the heart of the film is Joaquin Phoenix as Sheriff Joe Cross, the weary lawman of Eddington, New Mexico. Joe is a man utterly ill-equipped for the world closing in around him. His household is a nightmare: his wife Louise (Emma Stone, gleefully sharp) is a conspiracy theorist who mocks his authority, while her mother Dawn (Deirdre O’Connell) treats him with constant disdain. At work, he’s ignored or undermined by his deputies (Luke Grimes and Micheal Ward). On top of all that, Joe clings to his identity as a proud anti-masker, even as the pandemic surges.
Phoenix is magnetic in the role, somehow balancing pathos with absurdity. His Joe is not a simple caricature of reactionary small-town America; instead, he’s a misguided man desperate for dignity, spiralling deeper into his own delusions. It’s a performance that lingers — funny one moment, tragic the next, and always rooted in something painfully human.
Joe’s impulsive decision to run for mayor sets the town on a collision course with chaos. His opponent is the slick, progressive Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal), whose polished political persona only fuels Joe’s insecurities. Their rivalry unfolds against the fractured landscape of pandemic-era America: Black Lives Matter protests rumbling through the streets, tribal Pueblos negotiating their place within town politics, and a looming data centre symbolising the all-consuming grip of the internet.
This is where Aster’s New Mexico roots shine. He fills Eddington with specific cultural textures, contrasting institutions and communities that sit uneasily side by side. Every layer of the story, from government infighting to the rise of opportunistic hucksters, feels like it could have been lifted from real headlines. The most striking of these hucksters is Vernon Jefferson Peak, a cult leader played with unnerving charm by Austin Butler. Butler injects a magnetic unpredictability into every scene he’s in, capturing the way charismatic figures thrive in moments of fear and division.
What makes Eddington stand apart from other pandemic-set stories is its willingness to embrace absurdity. This isn’t a dour reflection on the past few years, it’s a black comedy that knows the only sane reaction to such an insane moment might be laughter. Aster directs with precision, framing the farce without losing control of it. He balances the humour with biting commentary, showing how paranoia, isolation, and misinformation warped an already divided society.
The film barrels toward farce with increasing speed, and while some of Aster’s swings don’t quite land, particularly the intentionally ambiguous finale, there’s no denying the boldness of his vision. Few filmmakers would dare to make a pandemic film this messy, this funny, and this insightful all at once.
While Phoenix is the undeniable centre of gravity, the supporting cast is just as strong. Emma Stone is deliciously biting as Joe’s wife, her disdain giving their home scenes a caustic energy. Deirdre O’Connell grounds the absurdity with weary realism as Dawn. Pedro Pascal oozes charisma as Mayor Garcia, perfectly pitched as a foil to Phoenix’s flailing Joe. And Butler’s cult leader steals scenes with a dangerous mix of allure and menace.
Each performance feeds into the satire, creating a town that feels like a microcosm of America in 2020: fractured, confused, and teetering on the edge.
Eddington is not an easy film to categorise. It’s not horror, though it’s often unsettling. It’s not pure comedy, though it’s often hilarious. Instead, it’s something stranger: a satirical exorcism of recent history, a cinematic scream into the void that forces us to laugh at the madness we’ve endured.
Aster doesn’t get everything right, the ending will frustrate some, and a few story threads feel undercooked, but the sheer audacity of the film makes it stand out. Few directors are tackling politics, culture, and pandemic trauma with this much nerve.
For audiences ready to embrace its chaos, Eddington is a rewarding, if occasionally overwhelming, experience. It’s sharp, funny, and deeply uncomfortable, a mirror held up to a time many of us might prefer to forget.
Verdict: Ari Aster trades horror for satire in a bold pandemic-era Western that’s as hilarious as it is unsettling. An ambitious and fearless work that earns its place among the most daring films of the decade.
