Mank, in its audacity to tackle a myth, is both supremely engaging and infuriatingly defective. It manages to be grand and banal at the same time.
First, the good: Mank is not about Citizen Kane. It is about one man's ethical awakening. A pampered, talented writer (Herman J Mankiewicz) sells his soul to the Hollywood machine. In the process, he becomes a court jester to a press magnate (Hearst). The trimmings include privilege and protection from a devious movie mogul (LB Mayer). The problem is, Mankiewicz has a heart in addition to his copious intelligence. For all the gilded cages of San Simeon, Mank's attention is diverted by social injustice and inequality so deftly exploited by the ruling class. He puts his weight behind a Socialist-Democrat (Upton Sinclair) in the 1934 gubernatorial election. But, inadvertently, he also suggests a dirty propaganda trick to manipulate public opinion against Sinclair. The consequences are tragic. Mank's final decision to stand up to the Republican elite is illustrated by my favourite scene: the election night. Mankiewicz knows that Sinclair can't win, yet bets double-or-nothing. In his eyes, now misty with regret over his prior servitude, setting himself up for a losing bet is liberating.
As a former insider, Mankiewicz knew what he needed to know to write about the corruption of power. There are also a few hints the writer took from Sinclair Lewis's Dodsworth and Elmer Gantry. The script for what was to become Citizen Kane is a story of the derailment of ideals. It shows that ambition, supported by money, will always turn toward demagoguery and fraud.
Finchers' Mank, from that perspective, is an easy film to follow, and beautifully driven by Gary Oldman. But if you think about Mank as some kind of a backstory behind the making of one of cinema's greatest achievements, you'll come out disappointed. It's an easy trap to fall into, trying to name-guess the players, look for the bad guy in Orson Welles, or pinpoint numerous, sometimes glaring, historical inaccuracies of the script. The film is best enjoyed as a tale of a man whose alcohol-drowned conscience made one glorious gasp for honesty in an unjust world.
Alas, here is the evident bad: The first half of Mank feels like a series of well-archived one-liners in search of a scene. The set-ups are obvious, then the telegraphed line comes dead on arrival. Key characters are presented with broad strokes, defined not by actions, but by the researched quips. Factual errors abound. For instance, there is no historical evidence that the real Mankiewicz has taken a stand for Sinclair – a substantial fabrication given its dramatic weight in the film.
To sum up: Directing his father Jack's script, David Fincher smoothly evokes the era of Hollywood's golden days. Visually, the obvious inspiration comes from Gregg Toland's work on Citizen Kane. The deeply burnished B&W cinematography by Erik Messerschmidt is nobly searching for the right key, but frequently misses the proper contrast on the faces. In the interior shots, the actors sometimes blend in with the surroundings. The elliptical structure of the narrative is supported by solid editing and on-screen chapter titles presented in screenplay font. The art direction is a dream.
Oldman as Mank delivers yet another virtuoso performance – without his trademark over-the-top moments. He is so in control of the character, we quickly forget the lack of physical resemblance to Mankiewicz or the wrong age. The supporting cast is phenomenal. The standouts include Arliss Howard as LB Mayer, Amanda Seyfried as Marion Davies, Ferdinand Kingsley as Thalberg, with Charles Dance as WR Hearst bringing unexpected dignity to his ungrateful role. But the one who caught me off guard was Bill Nye (The Science Guy), channeling Bernie Sanders as Upton Sinclair. Simply wonderful.
The Rosebud of Mank is Citizen Kane. But, Rosebud was just a McGuffin – a plot device that served as a mere pretext to tell an entirely different story. And Mank's story, flawed as it is, remains timeless and timely as ever.
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