You Cannot Capture an Entire Man’s Life in Two Hours: Examining David Fincher’s Mank (2020)
Image courtesy of Netflix
By Trevor Ruth
Fun fact: Herman Mankiewicz, the primary focus of David Fincher’s latest film, Mank (2020), was also the brother of Joseph Mankiewicz, director of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947). I promise I did not do this by design. Regardless, I cannot truly recall the last time I was interested in a Fincher film outside of Fight Club (1999) or Se7en (1995), the latter of which I consider to be a seemingly flawless thriller. These films—along with Fincher’s other early works—felt unique in their gritty, some might even say nasty, form of dark realism that grounded their otherwise eccentric narratives. In what may be his most personal film to date, Fincher utilizes a great deal of his early filmmaking techniques; however the film is clearly a product of his more modern cinematic style. To this end, Mank is an admirable attempt at a biopic of screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz as he pens the script for Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941) and all of the obstacles that are set before him. The screenplay was written by Fincher’s late father, Jack Fincher, and turns its focus less on the actual filmmaking and more on the socio-political undertones of the era and the struggles that went into seeing the creation of the film after the script’s completion. It is an interesting film, to say the least, and quite frankly a timely one, given the current political status of the United States these past couple of years. That being said, for all of its admirable qualities as a tribute to one of the lost voices of an unforgettable era, the film’s stylistic approach also comes off as exceptionally derivative, to a point where one could watch this film once and be done with it almost immediately.
This is not to say that the actual filmmaking itself is poor in any way; the directing and production quality are top notch, all things considered. The choice to film Mank in black and white is clever to some regard, though it only gives the film a more nihilistic flair; this is not Tim Burton’s Ed Wood (1994) or Hazanavicius’ The Artist (2011). The film doesn’t look to capture the warm magic of the golden age, but rather it uses a vintage aesthetic to paint a melancholy view of California during such a sensitive decade. At times, this feels earned. Mank was shot on HDR with RED monochrome, giving the film a classic look that captures the electricity of Hollywood in its heyday while staying true to the cinematic reality of the world it invents. Included are cigarette burns that the viewer is able to catch every so often (borrowed infamously from Fight Club) and the sound quality is less refined in mono, forcing the audience to strain their ears a bit. Implemented were other more primitive techniques, like literally turning the lights down during scene transitions, and dramatic camera movements that accentuate Fincher’s more current style. The lighting may be dramatic, but the world still feels tangible.
Image Courtesy of Netflix
The script, on the other hand, almost never feels real, though perhaps this is the point. Fincher’s (Jack’s) dialogue is tongue-and-cheek, to a point where you can clearly see how Citizen Kane was a product of Mankiewicz’s intellect, though a good deal of that is surely due to Gary Oldman’s stellar performance. The interplay between him and his supporting cast is so lovingly Wellesian that one has to imagine the mocking nature of the film’s homage. I am often reminded of the pretensions found in F for Fake (1974), or perhaps the more recently released The Other Side of the Wind (2018). Obviously, Fincher did his homework, though I have to admit that the film will surely go over the heads of most filmgoers as the narrative leaps between past and present without much directional intelligence or, really, much purpose. There are beautifully crafted shots to emphasize the severity of Mank’s alcoholism, but the film does not really approach why Mank being an alcoholic is important outside of the fact that writers tend to be alcoholic by nature. Meanwhile, the politics of the era take center stage with Mank caught in the middle of a battle between the failing capitalism of the great depression and the socialist ideals of the artist during such a turbulent time. To say this is a minor narrative element is an understatement; a great deal of what influences Mankiewicz into writing Citizen Kane is his relationship with MGM and the studio’s attempt at belittling gubernatorial candidate Upton Sinclair (portrayed by Bill Nye of all people, who does an excellent job with what little screen time he gets) through a smear campaign. Mankiewicz is obviously stuck in the crossfire, not exactly aiding the socialist (or communist, as some of the characters would argue) regime, but seeing a grand opportunity for attacking capitalism through an obvious duplicate of William Hearst. The black and white only enhances the exceptionally polarizing views of old Hollywood even further, though brilliantly so. Following the political beliefs of so many famous Hollywood starlets is certainly important, but leaves a great deal to Mank’s overall character to still be examined. We know from his dialogue that he is a learned man and that he likes to drink. Mankiewicz has a wife but has about as much chemistry with her as he does with his scribe, Rita (Lily Collins). If this seems like I am belittling the film’s choice to put the politics before the personal life of Mankiewicz, I am not. If nothing else, the film utilizes its political ideologies to draw comparisons to the government politics of today, which is incredible in its own right. Perhaps it isn’t as timeless as, say, Galdar Gaztelu-Urrutia’s The Platform (2019), but I have to admit that while I couldn’t find myself falling in love with the film, it does carry with it a lot of charm.
Image Courtesy of Netflix
The film does a great job at keeping the implications small. Whether or not Mankiewicz decides to write Citizen Kane in retaliation to his studio’s threatening termination or because he understands socialist ideologies to a point of actually practicing them is never truly given. Some believe that Mank wrote the script to attack Hearst because Mank was affiliated with Hearst’s benefactor (and supposedly, lover), Marion Davies (played by a charismatic but also somewhat reserved Amanda Seyfried), but the relationship between the two seemed purely platonic and, besides, there does come a moment where Mankiewicz sees his work with a kind of pride. In one of the film’s concluding scenes, Mank tells Orson that he wants accreditation for his work and Orson erupts in a blind fury, throwing the alcohol case used to entice Mankiewicz into writing the screenplay and yelling at him about how he was willing to offer Mank a buyout (this is also where Tom Burke’s performance as Orson Welles breaks its perfect streak; it just seems completely out of character in both voice and demeanor). Here the audience isn’t quite sure if the reasoning behind Mank’s proposal is meant to be one of pompous disdain for Hearst and to laugh in the man’s face by taking full credit for his film persona, or if Mank is honestly proud of his work on Citizen Kane and concurs with the rest of his contemporaries, who believe it to be the greatest thing he has ever written.
The greatest flaw of Mank is that for all of its loving detail in the spirit of homage, it loses a bit of itself as a personal project. The truth of the matter is that Mank could have been made by any other director; there is simply not enough of Fincher’s character in the cinematography to justify his place as the architect of the picture. In fact, the only scene where I saw Fincher’s true vision involves a nighttime shot of Mank and Marion indulging in friendly gossip before promenading across the gardens of Hearst Castle: the soft quality of the focus invites a romantic aura as beams of light are haloed with a circular flare that gives the scene a very lived-in quality. It’s also the most Fincher scene in the entire film. Trent Reznor returns for the soundtrack, but instead of a moody synth we are given a softer, more orchestrated ensemble that matches the era but—again—sacrifices the initial voice. Again, the soundtrack does not have enough of Reznor in it to justify his involvement.
Image Courtesy of Netflix
The film ends with Mankiewicz and Welles winning the academy award for his immortal screenplay. However, the closing text tells us that he would never go on to write another original story, fulfilling Hearst’s analogy of the organ grinder’s monkey that acts as a motif; that Mank was only as creative and contemplative as his muse. Perhaps there is some parallel here that can be drawn between Herman Mankiewicz and Jack Fincher as writers and artists. I do not look to psychoanalyze any artist, but with such a small body of work one has to admit that perhaps Jack felt like a monkey in his own right; that perhaps he himself might have been lost in his creative outlet, searching to fulfill his own satiation with a historical analysis of a screenwriter outshined by the history that followed in his wake. To this end, the film does well enough. Otherwise, it’s a wonderful examination of a lost generation, compelled by the anxieties and principalities of their surroundings to indulge in more ideological storytelling. If only the film had the charisma to be any more impressionable than that.
Trevor Ruth is a writer from Livermore, California, whose work has previously appeared in Occam’s Razor, The Southampton Review, and other literary journals. He writes fiction and poetry that utilizes slipstream to subvert genre ideals, as well as critical essays on film and art.