Molly's Game

Not to get too personal but I run hot and cold on Aarron Soarkin as a writer. He's an obvious talent, writing slick, hyper-articulate characters who nonetheless feel like real and believable people. But at the same time he's obviously writing these characters from the limitations of a white male, establishment perspective. That's not a bad thing, it's worked like gangbusters when turned on the elitism of Harvard or the egotism of Silicon Valley. Hell, I've only seen about 1.5 episodes of the West Wing and yeah, Soarkin really nails his idealised vision of an intellectually-driven White House (it was a more innocent time). Pretty much anything bad I have to say about him comes from Newsroom where it really feels like Soarkin's worst instincts were allowed to flourish. All the female characters are, to varying degrees, painted as ditzy drama queens. The 'recent history' gimmick makes the whole thing feel dated and, on occasion, exploitative of real events. And the show is slathered in Soarkin's saccharin self-righteousness surrounding the wholesome integrity of the honest 'objective' news media.

I bring all of this up because Molly's Game, Soarkin's directorial debut, showcases him at both his very best and his very worst. Soarkin's almost supernatural ability to wring compelling drama out of the self-inflicted issues facing very privileged people is still very much present. As Molly Bloom, Jessica Chastain gives a nuanced portrayal of a self-made entrepreneur with all the drives and vulnerabilities of a believable human being. The film starts with Molly at her lowest moment, a crippling accident that ruins her career as an Olympic skier. Set adrift from her life's dream she takes a year out in L.A. and gets a job assisting a sleazy businessman running his high stakes poker game. With nothing but her wit and ability to make connections she quickly takes over the game, attracting bigger players and higher stakes. She takes control but her control is always a fragile thing, repeatedly endangered by the egos of insecure men and the interference of less than reputable gangs.

This is all told after the fact by Molly as both narration from her book and information relayed to Molly's lawyer Charlie Jafferty, played by the ever-admirable Idris Elba. In typical Soarkin fashion we find ourselves flitting back and forth through Molly's timeline. But unlike the experienced directors who previously handled his work Soarkin is unable to properly provide a coherent rhythm to his storytelling. Just when Molly is getting into her first poker game we suddenly flit back to her childhood, everything builds to Molly's court hearing in the third act but all the big emotional courtroom performance comes about twenty-minutes earlier. For the most part Soarkin's direction is solid, the man's crafted enough walk-and-talk scenes to know how to shoot one. It's surprising that for such a talented writer, the let down would be in the storytelling.

That's not to suggest his usual bad habits aren't on display her. With Chastain at the driving seat Molly is indeed a formidable creature; intelligent, driven and charming. All too often though her flaws come not from herself but from the judgement of the men around her. Jafferty frequently puts her down, undermines her and outright talks over her in one of the most Soarkiny of Soarkin's monologues. Worse still all her ambition, her drive for control, is written off as Daddy issues, patronizingly explained by her father, played by Kevin Costner. It's as if Soarkin goes out of his way to build a great character, only to tear her down.

What makes these scenes worse is that, while the dialogue is still sharp, Soarkin's speechifying inevitably gets the better of him. So much so that any real emotion that might have come from a heartfelt family reunion or a defiant statement of principle gets lost in a whirlwind of verbosity and literature references. It doesn't help that at no point do we empathise with Molly's unwillingness to rat out her players. All of whom are presented as leches, liars or outright sociopaths. Pride comes from a lot of places, but not protecting the people who sell you down the river.

This is not to say the film is without merit. Chastain practically carries the thing with nothing but her charm and vulnerability. Seeing her maneuver around Hollywood stars, Wall Street fat cats and Russsian Oligarch is the fun, goofy look at excess wealth that's impossible to dislike. But it all builds to such an anticlimax that it inevitably disappoints. One for Soarkin completionists only.