Imagine a blockbuster film that's hailed as the cinematic event of the year, raking in over $100 million at the box office and earning rave reviews from critics and audiences alike—yet it's sparking fierce debates that divide opinions along political lines. That's the reality with Paul Thomas Anderson's 'One Battle After Another,' a gripping, nearly three-hour adaptation of Thomas Pynchon's novel 'Vineland,' starring Leonardo DiCaprio. But here's where it gets controversial: while many celebrate its mature storytelling and emotional depth, a growing chorus from the conservative side is labeling it as dangerously irresponsible, accusing it of glorifying left-wing extremism. Let's dive into why this film is stirring such heated discussions, and explore the perspectives on both sides to understand the bigger picture.
At its core, 'One Battle After Another' follows a disillusioned revolutionary, played by DiCaprio, who risks everything to rescue his daughter from a menacing white nationalist military officer portrayed by Sean Penn. The movie kicks off with a thrilling sequence where activists storm an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facility to liberate detained immigrants, and it doesn't shy away from depicting government agents executing unarmed individuals or infiltrating peaceful protests to escalate violence with Molotov cocktails. For newcomers to political cinema, this isn't just action—it's a commentary on power, rebellion, and the human cost of ideological clashes, drawing parallels to real-world issues like immigration enforcement and civil unrest.
Despite its indie roots and lengthy runtime, the film has achieved remarkable success, marking Anderson's biggest opening weekend ever. It's the kind of grown-up drama that resonates with viewers seeking substance over spectacle, blending high-stakes drama with profound themes. Yet, given its overt political edge, it's surprising that conservative backlash hasn't been louder—perhaps because a niche indie about leftist insurgents doesn't grab the same attention as a family-friendly remake like 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.' But some critics argue that timing is everything, and this release couldn't be more ill-suited to the current climate.
And this is the part most people miss: the film, which Anderson developed over decades, is being slammed not for its artistry, but for its alleged agenda. Take Ben Shapiro, the outspoken commentator, who called it out in a video as a blatant defense of radical left-wing terrorism. He claims it lacks nuance, portraying the U.S. as a fascist regime dominated by white supremacist Christian nationalists, where minorities and a handful of 'incompetent' allies must overthrow the system—even if it means sacrificing family, friendships, decency, and personal achievement. In Shapiro's view, the film glorifies being a 'loser' who bombs indiscriminately to aid illegal border crossings, rather than embracing productive citizenship. For beginners, this critique highlights how some see the movie as promoting chaos over constructive change, potentially influencing viewers to view extreme actions as heroic.
Echoing this sentiment, David Marcus from Fox News dubbed it an 'ill-timed apology for left-wing violence' in his piece. He argues that to buy into the film's narrative, you must accept that America is currently a fascist dictatorship—a notion he calls not just false, but perilous, especially in light of recent events like the Trump administration's crackdown on groups like Antifa, which he labels as real domestic terrorists. Marcus even suggested it might serve as 'fun' viewing for jailed extremists, underscoring his anger at what he perceives as the movie's endorsement of deadly ideologies. This perspective invites us to consider: is depicting such scenarios in fiction a harmless artistic choice, or does it risk normalizing violence in a polarized society?
The National Review went further, noting a 'macabre coincidence' with the film's release shortly after the assassination of conservative figure Charlie Kirk. They warn of 'bloodlust' incited by the movie, accusing Anderson of romanticizing political assassinations and stirring up a culture of endless obstruction and chaos. The outlet claims the film idolizes the misguided, violent acts of past and present liberals, targeting 'woke' audiences and Gen Z viewers unfamiliar with 1960s radicalism. For those new to these debates, think of it as a cautionary tale about how media can fuel division—much like how historical movements, such as the Weather Underground bombings, are remembered differently by various groups.
Similarly, The Blaze opined that 'One Battle After Another' isn't your typical Hollywood anti-conservative fare; it's a direct call to arms. They point out scenes where DiCaprio's character shouts revolutionary slogans while setting off explosives, meant to elicit cheers from viewers. If you're not applauding, the implication is clear: you're the target. The site argues that Hollywood increasingly frames conservatives not as fellow Americans with differing views, but as moral enemies deserving punishment—whether for owning guns, supporting borders, or voting differently. This bold stance raises a provocative question: in an era of deep political divides, should art aim to unite or confront?
But wait—it's not all one-sided criticism. The progressive outlet The New Republic offered a counterpoint, suggesting the film is more fantasy than reality. Writer David Klion noted that the most implausible element is the existence of a cohesive left-wing group actively fighting back, resembling the Weather Underground more in conservative nightmares than actual history. He observed audiences laughing and cheering at screenings, enjoying the spectacle, yet found it jarring against the film's grim portrayals of families separated by federal agents. This interpretation flips the script: perhaps the movie critiques the absence of such resistance in real life, highlighting how far society is from true revolutionary action.
Adding another layer, Richard Newby in The Hollywood Reporter defended the film against accusations of celebrating violence. He argues it portrays such acts as short-term fixes that lead to mutual casualties and suffering, not as victories. For example, drawing battle lines in this way creates victims on all sides, underscoring the shared hardships of American life. This view encourages us to see the film as a mirror to societal flaws, rather than a blueprint for unrest.
In wrapping this up, 'One Battle After Another' stands as a lightning rod for cultural debates, praised for its boldness yet condemned for its perceived irresponsibility. Is it a timely critique of extremism, or a reckless endorsement of it? Do films like this bridge divides or widen them? I'd love to hear your thoughts—what side of this controversy do you fall on? Share your opinions in the comments below, and let's discuss whether art should provoke or pacify in such turbulent times.
