







This isn’t a cradle-to-legend biopic. It’s a close-up study of depression — the day-to-day drag, the small humiliations, the way it shrinks your world even when your name is on the posters. The irony is brutal: he’s one of the most successful musicians alive, a genuine guitar great, and none of that makes the mornings easier.
What lands is the collateral mess. The work slows, then stalls. Relationships tighten into knots. He isn’t only failing to manage the illness; he can’t say what’s happening in a way anyone around him can grasp, so people fill the gaps with guesses and platitudes.
Jeremy Allen White is excellent at keeping it human. He doesn’t play “icon”. He plays a man trying to function while something invisible keeps leaning on his chest, and the restraint feels earned.
I did struggle with Jeremy Strong, though. In Trump I mostly saw Kendall Roy in a different tie; here I couldn’t unsee Roy Cohn, and it pulled me out of key scenes. Still, when the film sits with the cost of unspoken suffering, it hits.