Director David Fincher’s Mank is a magnificent experience in all manner of ways, starting with Gary Oldman’s mesmerizing portrayal of celebrated journalist, author and screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz.
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| Screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) and actress Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried) meet over a shared cigarette; they'll soon bond over their tempestuous fealty to William Randolph Hearst. |
The saga is rigorously period-authentic, and (mostly) historically accurate. Jack Fincher conflates a few key events — and meddles a bit with chronology — to heighten dramatic tension, but his characterization of key players is (often dismayingly) dead-on.
Perhaps Jack Fincher’s most audacious stroke is his revival of a controversy that film scholars have deemed long settled: the question of who actually wrote, and/or contributed the most, to the script of Citizen Kane. Fincher pere et fil clearly imply that Mankiewicz deserves the lion’s share of credit, whereas actual evidence weighs far more heavily in Welles’ favor.
Ah, but even here, Fincher’s script is cheekily ambiguous … because their Mankiewicz clearly isn’t the most reliable narrator of — or participant in — his own life.
(In the movie world, stubborn skeptics are akin to those who insist that Shakespeare’s plays actually were written by Francis Bacon. For the record, though, Welles and Mankiewicz shared the screenplay Academy Award, the sole victory among Kane’s nine Oscar nominations.)
Fincher opens his film in early 1940, as Mankiewicz is deposited at an isolated ranch in Victorville, California, roughly 90 miles from the hedonistic Hollywood environment that exacerbates his worst tendencies. He’s left with secretary Rita Alexander (Lily Collins), longtime friend and writing associate John Houseman (Sam Troughton), and a nurse (Monika Gossmann) to care for a badly broken leg sustained in a recent driving accident.
Mankiewicz’s assignment from Welles: to come up with the initial draft of a screenplay depicting the imperious career of a combustible newspaper mogul who — wink, wink, nudge, nudge — isn’t really based on William Randolph Hearst. Except that of course it is.
This task is to be completed in 60 days, while Rita, Houseman and the nurse do their best to keep Mankiewicz sober.
This prologue subsequently bounces back and forth between two other time streams: 1930, when Mankiewicz has just become a popular, respected and celebrated presence in Hollywood, having been transplanted from New York’s Algonquin Round Table; and 1934, when he becomes a fixture at Hearst’s notoriously lavish parties at his San Simeon castle. This is where Mankiewicz also deepens a friendship with the newspaper baron’s actress paramour, Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried).
By way of easing any strain of viewers, all transitions are prefaced by screenplay-style directorial commands (e.g. “Ext. MGM Studios, 1934”).
Even so, the wealth of characters and the rapid-fire information dump can be daunting, particularly during the initial half hour, for viewers who don’t know at least a bit about Welles, Citizen Kane and 1930s-era Hollywood movers and shakers. To which I counsel patience: All eventually becomes clear enough to relish the snarky, self-destructive path on which Mankiewicz staggers through most of the decade.
Oldman’s Mankiewicz is remarkable: another chameleon-like, wholly immersive performance akin to his George Smiley, in 2011’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy; or his Oscar-winning Winston Churchill, in 2017’s Darkest Hour. In public Mankiewicz swans about as an impulsive, frequently soused bon vivant, with a marvelous facility for acid wit and scathingly perceptive commentary; Oldman’s line delivery is stand-up-comic perfect.
During the Victorville sequences, he’s chastened but still stubbornly defiant. The charm here comes from the way David Fincher intimately handles the tentative professional relationship that develops between Mankiewicz and Rita. Collins, also no slouch when it comes to gracefully subtle acting chops, gives Rita just the right amount of feisty British spunk, as she becomes brave enough to verbally joust with her famous companion.
Charles Dance is deliciously, malevolently imperious as Hearst; his feral, reptilian smirk leaves no doubt that he regards himself superior to anybody else in the room.
Seyfried’s Marion is fascinating. On the one hand, she clearly relishes her lavish lifestyle, and the perks that result from being escorted by a man who can bankroll anything she wishes to do. At the same time, at quieter moments — notably an evening stroll with Mankiewicz — Seyfried lets the pretense drop, exposing Marion’s fragile, vulnerable side. (She, too, is a hopeless alcoholic.)
Tuppence Middleton bravely handles the thankless role of Sara, Mankiewicz’s often abandoned but nonetheless loyal wife. Middleton makes her devotion feel genuine, although it’s clearly tinged with regret: not necessarily for herself, but mostly — we see this in her eyes — over her helpless realization that her husband is slowly destroying his reputation. And himself.
Arlis Howard is unapologetically arrogant as MGM head Louis B. Mayer; watch for the jaw-dropping moment when he pleads desperation and uses FDR’s bank holiday as an excuse to halve every MGM employee’s salary for eight weeks. (Yes, this actually occurred.)
Ferdinand Kingsley is quietly sinister as manipulative MGM production head Irving Thalberg, who plays a key role in this film’s second core historical event: activist author Upton Sinclair’s 1934 run for governor of California, on the Democratic ticket. This eye-opening event supplies Mank with a fascinating political backdrop, given the degree to which old-school Republicans and business tycoons — such as Hearst — connived to sabotage Sinclair’s campaign.
(The notion that Hearst and Thalberg’s behind-the-scenes skullduggery is what convinces Mankiewicz to embrace the Citizen Kane project, however, is a fabrication on Jack Fincher’s part.)
We actually see Sinclair only briefly; it’s droll to note that he’s played by Bill Nye (“the Science Guy”).
Other familiar Hollywood figures pop up fleetingly or are name-checked: David O. Selznick, George S. Kaufman, Ben Hecht, Eddie Cantor and many others.
The period fidelity of Messerschmidt’s lush, monochromatic cinematography is almost eerie at times; it definitely hearkens back to Gregg Toland’s shadow-laden, Oscar-nominated work in Citizen Kane. Goodness, Messerschmidt even inserts the fleeting little dots in the upper right corner of the screen, which alerted movie theater projectionists to change reels every 20 minutes.
Donald Graham Burt’s production design is equally sumptuous, and the thoughtfully moody Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross score similarly evokes Bernard Herrmann’s celebrated music for Citizen Kane.
All this said, Mank ultimately might be too “inside” for casual filmgoers. Although Sinclair’s gubernatorial run serves as a compelling secondary access point — particularly in light of the lies and relentless dirty tricks that characterized our own recent presidential race — the faithfulness and artistic beauty of Fincher’s homage may be lost on viewers not steeped in Hollywood history.
But if you do love such stuff, Mank is stunning, and a constant delight.
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