Disclaimer Is a Flaccid, Pretentious Slog

As someone who’s spent countless hours immersed in the world of cinematic storytelling, I can confidently say that Alfonso Cuarón’s ‘Disclaimer‘ is a testament to what happens when ambition outweighs execution. It’s like watching a seven-hour film where the director seems to have forgotten that less is often more.

It has been argued that TV series should not stretch over seven (or more) hours, as this was a common practice during the golden era and peak of television. However, with the industry now experiencing an era of austerity, it appears that some valuable lessons from the past are being rediscovered, such as making each episode enjoyable and ending them in a way that encourages viewers to watch more. Occasionally, remnants of the high-streaming era resurface, serving as a reminder of what can happen when these lessons are forgotten. Alfonso Cuarón’s Disclaimer is an example of such a relic.

In 2019, when Apple TV+ was still brimming with potential and grand promises following a deal with renowned Mexican filmmaker Alfonso Cuarón, he embarked on his first venture into serialized storytelling titled “Disclaimer“. In this series, Cuarón serves as both writer and director across all seven episodes. The narrative centers around the conflicting destinies of two British families who share an unexpected connection through a devastating incident out of proportion to their lives. One family includes Catherine Ravenscroft (Cate Blanchett), a renowned documentarian, her husband Robert (Sacha Baron Cohen), a wealthy but insecure man, and their son Nicholas (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who struggles to tolerate his mother’s presence. On the other side stands Stephen Brigstocke (Kevin Kline), an embittered old man grappling with the imminence of death after learning about a novel written by his late wife, Nancy (Lesley Manville), in which she revealed their son Jonathan (Louis Partridge) had drowned years prior at the same Italian beach where the Ravenscrofts were vacationing.

The show Disclaimer is rather secretive about the specifics of what transpired between Jonathan and the older, married Catherine on that crucial day. However, from the start, it appears that their encounter was an intimate one. In flashbacks, Leila George portrays Catherine, although she bears no resemblance to Blanchett in this role. As the show progresses, it becomes clear that many of the scenes depicting the events of that day are actually excerpts from Nancy’s novel, which may or may not represent the actual truth. The truthfulness of these scenes is a central aspect of the series, and this ambiguity serves as a source of conflict as Stephen publishes the book and uses it to torment Catherine in the present.

As a movie enthusiast, I’d rephrase it like this: Alfonso Cuarón takes on the adaptation of Renée Knight’s 2015 best-selling novel, “Disclaimer”, and he masterfully rotates the narrative among three different characters – Stephen, Catherine, and Indira Varma’s character, representing Nancy’s book. This technique is intended to create a captivating “family with secrets” drama reminiscent of “Rashomon”. The story aims to weave together into a tangled web of self-narratives and the stories we craft about ourselves, our loved ones, and how these tales can obscure the truth and hinder our grasp of “objective reality.

Although the concept explored in “Disclaimer” is intellectually stimulating, the series fails to take off in its execution. The genre of the unreliable narrator has been extensively delved into before, from shows like “The Undoing” and “Sharp Objects”. However, “Disclaimer” falls short as it doesn’t offer a fresh or engaging perspective on this theme. Furthermore, the show neglects to fully develop other thematic elements it hints at, such as class criticism and commentary on cancel culture. The series touches upon class issues primarily through the Ravenscroft family, but only offers superficial references. Similarly, the portrayal of Stephen manipulating Catherine’s reputation to reflect cancel culture lacks depth, much like the decontextualizing force of social media in “Tár” with Cate Blanchett.

Alfonso Cuarón views the series as a “seven-hour movie,” and perhaps it would have been more effective if it were intended for a single viewing session. As it stands, the series drags on unnecessarily. Scenes unfold with the solemnity of a Catholic Mass, and certain sections seem overly extended, leading one to question whether they’re padding the runtime. An early episode contains an excessively long sex scene that borders on the absurd; there is only so much intrigue such a sequence can provide before one starts questioning its purpose. A late segment, featuring a slow-paced race to a hospital, is difficult to comprehend given it originates from the same creator who made Children of Men. It’s challenging to find interest in anything or anyone, as the show seems uninterested in engaging the audience, particularly when its characters do not question the logic of their actions or those around them. This includes Robert, who reacts emotionally to discovering an old infidelity; Catherine, who barely attempts reconciliation with her family; and Stephen, who plods through his revenge despite hints that things may not be as they seem.

Instead of Disclaimer feeling like a well-executed project, it seems more like an unsuccessful attempt. With its potential to be reminiscent of David E. Kelley’s recent works such as Presumed Innocent or another captivating television production starring Nicole Kidman, the end result falls flat due to excessive pretentiousness. The dialogue is overly elaborate, with phrases like “The book was a work of fiction, but it released the truth from its ballast, allowing it to rise to the surface.” Alfonso Cuarón’s signature visual style, characterized by active camera movements, often highlights the scenes’ tranquility instead of adding depth. Michael Kline and Cate Blanchett deliver intriguing performances, with Kline portraying an elderly figure of death and Blanchett embodying a haughty elite struggling to maintain her precarious life. However, their performances are exaggerated in a way that feels out of sync with the overall tone of the production.

The few traces of pleasure to be found in Disclaimer are typically incidental to the action. The Ravenscrofts occupy an outrageously opulent home complete with a kitchen that would make Architectural Digest sickos weep. Indeed, the entire show looks stunning, courtesy of the great Emmanuel Lubezki (a frequent Cuarón collaborator) and Bruno Delbonnel, cinematographers doing great work making a grim, dreary old London look morbidly attractive. Both the Ravenscroft and Brigstocke households also feature great cats, who seem so perfectly present and fun to watch they’re probably CGI.

As a film enthusiast, I must confess that despite its promising premise, “Disclaimer” didn’t quite satiate my appetite for engaging storytelling. The episodes, unfortunately, felt monotonous as Brigstocke’s relentless pursuit of Ravenscroft began to feel more laborious than thrilling. By the time the climax rolled around, the predictable unraveling of secrets left me questioning why I had persisted in my viewership.

2024-10-11 18:54

Disclaimer Is a Flaccid, Pretentious Slog

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