Film Review: Cherry
The Russo Brothers’ Cherry is an excruciating disaster
Bloated, over-produced, and underwritten, the Russo Brothers’ latest film - based upon Nico Walker’s novel of the same name - is a self-indulgent exercise in filmmaking hubris. The very definition of style over substance, Cherry is a lurching homunculus of artifice that never feels authentic, not even for a second. With nothing to say about any of the serious subjects it broaches, Cherry is prime contender for one of the worst films of the year. Minor spoilers ahead…
Under the auspices of super-producer Kevin Feige, Joe and Anthony Russo have been the undisputed stewards of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Tackling laser-focused conspiracy thrillers and industry-shaking blockbusters with equal aplomb for the comic book studio, the Russos have cemented themselves as a secret weapon when it comes to wide-appeal filmmaking - after all, Avengers: Endgame is the highest grossing movie of all time. But now the Russos have hung up their capes, reuniting with Tom Holland - arguably the brightest star in the MCU at the moment - to deliver Cherry, an adaptation of Nico Walker’s acclaimed novel of the same name.
A sprawling saga told over the course of 15 years, Cherry follows its title character (Holland) as he continually hits bedrock in an ever-deepening pit of despair. Cherry drops out of college to enlist in the Army as a medic, but when he returns, he’s haunted and hollowed out, turning to drugs to dull the effects of PTSD - it isn’t long before he’s robbing banks to fund his crippling addiction. Covering the mid-aughts to present day, Cherry strives to be a poignant indie character study, but if the Russos’ comic book fare represents supermassive popcorn entertainment, then their latest is an overcorrection of the most egregious kind. Over-stylized and overstuffed to a fatal fault, Cherry takes its source material’s aware self-loathing and transforms it into a shallow music video.
“…if the Russos’ comic book fare represents supermassive popcorn entertainment, then [Cherry] is an overcorrection of the most egregious kind.”
In an interview with Vanity Fair, the Russos describe their stylistic choices: “The movie’s broken up into six chapters that reflect those different periods, and each one has a different tone. It’s shot with different lenses, different production design. One’s got magical realism. Another chapter is absurdism. Another is horror…There’s a bit of gonzo in it. It’s raw in its tone. He’s a character in existential crisis.” It’s true in almost the worst way possible - Cherry is a potpourri of glitz and artistry without rhyme or reason. With its meaningless Tarantino-esque intertitles, on-the-nose Scorsese-lite narration, and overwrought camerawork from Newton Thomas Sigel, there isn’t a single authentic note within its construction, especially when it comes to its purported meditations on PTSD or the opioid crisis. Yes, there are depictions of war, trauma, and drug use, but that doesn’t mean the film has anything to say about them - it’s way too obsessed with its faux-prestige glamour to imbue its themes with substance.
Cherry’s coming-of-age first act is charming enough, introducing the film’s love interest Emily (Ciara Bravo) and its throughline relationship, but it isn’t long before it goes down the full trope checklist. Seemingly curated with a dull machete, Cherry is like every war, PTSD, addiction, and bank robber movie you’ve ever seen, stuffed with baffling cutaways and vignettes that only accentuate its already waterlogged runtime. The film does succeed with its most pedestrian avenues, squeezing drops of inertia from its undercooked romance and its routine stick-em-ups, but any semblance of momentum is halted dead in its tracks by overindulgence and artifice.
“Over-stylized and overstuffed to a fatal fault, Cherry takes its source material’s aware self-loathing and transforms it into a shallow music video”
If there’s one good thing to take away from Cherry, it’s that Tom Holland is undoubtedly a capital “M” movie star. A walking font of charisma, Holland grinds through this mess of a film - and especially its grating voiceover - through sheer force of will: Cherry’s toxic and codependent relationship with his love Emily is the only portion of the film that remotely works, anchored by Holland’s magnetism. He’s still woefully miscast, though. Holland’s doe-eyes and boyishness stretch the limits of credulity when it comes to the film’s ambitiously grim 15-year span, and the same goes for his co-star Ciara Bravo. At one point, it’s almost impossible not to chuckle at a Serpico-style ‘stache pasted on Holland’s baby face.
Cherry is a film that screams for legitimacy and stinks of desperation in the face of massive success. Chucking aspect ratios, needle-drops, and tricks of style into a blender doesn’t equal a good movie, but it looks like nobody wanted to tell the Russos post-Endgame. Carte blanche is rarely the gift it presents itself as, and Cherry is the overproduced and excruciating proof.
GRADE: D
