‘Manodrome’: When Toxic Masculinity and Gay Panic Meet

One of the most underrated films of the year is actually an intriguing, if flawed, character study of the toxic American male

Ralphie (Jesse Eisenberg) is the quintessential American Bro of the 21^st Century. The wannabe alpha male who tries to compensate for his failures by acting tough, provoking people who he thinks are weak enough not to engage in a fight with him. Everyone else, physically and mentally, he’s afraid of. That’s no surprise since Ralphie knows where he stands in the social hierarchy — it’s hard to mask fear and insecurity when you let life shit on you for so long.

He's a rideshare driver, recently laid off from a construction job, with a pregnant girlfriend and a gym membership he probably treasures more than anything else. He works out almost every day and poses in front of the mirror after each session to feel good about himself, at least for a split second. Apart from that brief moment, he knows he’s just a loser with nothing to show for, which infuriates him. So he wants more: control, connection, authority, or anything, really, that would make him feel like a man, superior in any way possible.

Enter Adrien Brody as Dad Dan, the leader of a mysterious (and misogynist) men's cult, who serves as a father figure to all the angry, horny, and insecure guys that choose to follow him and his principles. It doesn't take much for Ralphie to be in awe of this man. He’s charismatic, charming, has money, and talks like a masculine self-help guru and mentor, guiding lost men who wander aimlessly in life. Thus Ralphie is inclined to join the group, but there are rules — some said, some implied. One of them is that you have to go celibate, and if you have a girlfriend, you should leave her as soon as possible. It’s a weird condition from a group that prides itself on being macho, but it’s strictly there to drive home a point about masculinity this fraternity desperately tries to represent.

Ralphie clearly has a problem with that (one of his few positive traits is that he actually loves his girlfriend), but for a different reason than you might think. Nevertheless, he goes through the multiple phases of the initiation process (an eerie mixture of Fight Club philosophy and misguided loyalty) that are creepy and unnerving. But somewhere along the way, his bottled-up frustration and suppressed gay panic crack open to unleash a chain of violence that inevitably spirals out of control like a loose fire hose.

It's kind of funny how much hate John Trengove’s second feature has generated among critics and viewers since its portrayal of the dangerous loser archetype is surprisingly on point. The writer-director patiently fills the slow build-up with dread and suspense until it’s almost unbearable just so it can all unravel in a violent explosion. His protagonist embodies a lot of issues wrong with the modern American male, who feels trapped by his inadequacy and seeks unhealthy ways to release his anger. Manodrome intentionally shows the blight and toxicity of such a person and refuses to offer a solution. As if to say: If you can't stare at someone who chooses violence and destruction to act out his insecurities, that’s your problem — but it won’t make the film’s subject matter less real or effective.

In the lead, Jesse Eisenberg brings the prickly and arrogant intensity to this role as he did to many others before. The main difference here from his similar characters is that now there’s nothing to balance out the inherent assholery. He’s basically built a career on playing annoying losers with a redeeming quality: Columbus in Adventureland is pathetic but witty, Zuckerberg in The Social Network is a dick but also a genius, and Toby Fleishman in Fleishman is in Trouble is obnoxious yet a loving father to his kids. In Manodrome, he’s just an asshole — unlikable and repulsive, period. Yet that doesn't diminish Eisenberg's performance in the slightest (he's as excellent as he is in those films mentioned above), it just makes it a little harder to appreciate the effort he’s put in here. Which is somewhat ironic because America is fascinated by assholes lately — they even elected one to be their president.

However, the reason Manodrome fails to be truly memorable or excitingly provocative throughout is its over-the-top third act. Once Ralphie loses control and begins to run amok with a gun in his hand, Trengrove throws in the kitchen sink and then some to accumulate some sort of climax that stands in line with his careful exposition. But the overabundance of sexual complexes, mental disorders, and insane rumbles somewhat counteract what he tries to achieve and feel too bonkers and illogical to work. It’s hard to make total sense of Ralphie’s ruinous acts that end in unnecessarily excessive bloodshed and decay. Though he was always headed to a breakdown of some kind from the start — that much is clear — it feels like a link is missing to connect how he ended up there exactly. And the ambiguous final moments simply can’t resolve that issue.

Regardless, there's an alluring quality to Manodrome, even if it’s not explored entirely, that provides enough ammo for a thought-provoking watch. And combined with a solid cast (besides Eisenberg, Brody, Odessa Young, and Sallieu Sesay all deliver), it’s a movie that deserves a lot more recognition than it’s gotten initially.

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Recently I also wrote about my favorite film of the year, the spectacularly shot Italian drama, The Eight Mountains, and how it made me reminisce about my childhood and the loss of my best friend.

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