The Dropout

Creator: Elizabeth Meriwether
Starring: Amanda Seyfried, Naveen Andrews, Utkarsh Ambudkar, Michel Gill, Bill Irwin, William H. Macy, Elizabeth Marvel, Laurie Metcalf, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Kate Burton, Stephen Fry, Michael Ironside, Dylan Minnette, Alan Ruck, James Hiroyuki Liao, Camryn Mi-Young Kim, Sam Waterston, Kurtwood Smith, Anne Archer, LisaGay Hamilton, Michaela Watkins, Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Rich Sommer
Release Date: 2022

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

As a child, Elizabeth Holmes drew up a design for a time machine. This is mentioned in the very first episode of Hulu's The Dropout by her father, who still has it proudly framed as evidence of his daughter's propensity to dream big. It's emblematic of an upbringing that stressed no idea was too crazy or obstacle insurmountable if you just kept your head down and moved forward, without a care what anyone thinks. Whether awkwardly running track in high school, determined to finish no matter how far behind she was, or dancing in her room to Alabama's "I'm in a Hurry," with goofy moves that would make Elaine Benes blush, Holmes was always going places. Stopping only to seek approval from the Steve Jobs poster hanging on her wall, she'd tell herself that someday this would be her.   

Elizabeth Meriwether's gripping miniseries that just might be the most fascinating dissection of a modern public tech figure since Mark Zuckerberg was picked apart in The Social Network, and it's only after watching all 8 episodes that you can fully appreciate the opening ones, knowing what's coming. This is the ultimate supervillain origin story because it starts so innocuously, as the socially awkward, relatable Holmes comes off very likable at first, but with just enough quirks and personality deficiencies to do a double take, as we slowly become aware of the seeds being planted for trouble down the road. 

Holmes would undoubtedly appreciate that there's probably an alternate timeline somewhere in which she's as successful as her hero Jobs, an iconic, groundbreaking innovator who made products that transformed how we live. And therein lies the kicker. Her idea was good enough to have changed the world, if only it worked and she possessed lacked the knowledge, leadership and personality to do this. Meriwether doesn't let the believers and enablers off the hook either, knowing the true victims aren't  executives taken in by her charms and looking to bolster their bottom lines, but sick patients unknowingly endangered by lies and faulty technology. It would be a Shakesperean tragedy if only she had the self-actualization to realize what went wrong. Instead, the fallout destroys everyone and everything else, arriving at the Theranos founder's doorstep last. 

A mind blowing Amanda Seyfried not only delivers an endlessly layered, Emmy-worthy biographical portrayal, but somehow convinces us this ambitious, determined and somewhat flaky girl would later morph into a total enigma, all while strangely remaining entirely recognizable. The emotional and physical transformation she undergoes is both frightening and empathetic, painting a portrait of this lifelong overachiever with sociopathic tendencies who doesn't know when to say when, barely registering an inkling of the destruction she's caused. Elizabeth's only as aware as she wants to be, stuffing all the pain away to push through at any cost.

Meriwether covers a period from when Holmes was a pre-teen to her 2001 high school graduation and subsequent dropping out of Stanford University, all the way through the 2003 founding and 2018 dissolution of her medical technology company, Theranos. She'd eventually face charges from the Securities and Exchange Commission for defrauding investors and an eventual indictment, but it didn't start that way. Built on the development and distribution a groundbreaking device that could complete an entire battery of medical tests with only a single drop of blood, then 19 year-old Elizabeth Holmes took her revolutionary idea to the street, shoring up financial support from wealthy donors and venture capitalists. The only problem: it never worked.

Despite help from experienced engineers like Ian Gibbons (Stephen Fry), the technology just wasn't there for this to get off the ground. When pharmaceutical companies don't bite, Elizabeth makes the cagey decision to target retail, and when Walgreens shows interest in putting these Edison blood testing machines in their stores, her lies grow exponentially bigger. Upon bringing on her controlling, short-tempered boyfriend, Ramesh "Sunny" Balwani (Naveen Andrews) on as COO to appease an unhappy board, she buries her head further in the sand, working to cover-up the machine's dangerous irregularities while legally threatening anyone capable of exposing it. 

Holmes meets her match in family neighbor Richard Fuisz (William H. Macy), who not only attempts to sue her over a patent but starts feeding information to Wall Street Journal reporter John Carreyrou (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), who stumbles into the story of a lifetime. His whistleblowers come in the form of idealistic Theranos employees Erika Cheung (Camryn Mi-Young Kim) and Tyler Shultz (Dylan Minnette), grandson of stubborn board member and former Secretary of State George Shultz (Sam Waterston). They know something's very wrong, morally and scientifically. But as Holmes' grip tightens and she emerges as a media darling trumpeted by the likes of Bill Clinton, Joe Biden and Rupert Murdoch, Theranos begins drowning in empty promises and lies, all of which will soon be uncovered, along with its fraud of a CEO. 

While the ABC News podcast of the same title this is based upon functioned as a compelling, if slightly repetitive information dump, this adaptation is anything but. Exciting, tragic and even darkly hilarious, Meriwether (with directors Michael Showalter, Francesca Gregorini and Erica Watson) condense all these key events and facts into an easily digestible number of episodes, cutting out the fat to focus on what really matters: The psychological motivations of Holmes, who both does and doesn't fit the typical profile of what the public's perception of a criminal CEO is.

Standing out for its complexity, the script posits that it wasn't just one or two things that created Holmes or led to this giant lie, but rather a multitude of life events that shaped her narcissism and delusion. Some of its timeliest observations concern those who chose to believe her because it felt special to get in on the ground level and appear ahead of the curve. Though the potential dollar signs didn't hurt. Young, smart and pretty, her overall presentation and story was enough for these smitten investors to view the technology as almost an afterthought.

It must work. She told us so. Why would someone pour all this time and effort into nothing? Of course, few would intentionally set out to build a medical device that doesn't function, but Holmes' earliest  declarations that she wanted to become a billionaire was probably the first sign of putting the cart before the horse. Motivations aside, most of the problems started when her idea simply didn't work and she committed to soldiering on anyway with smoke and mirrors, ignoring the potential consequences. 

Whether running tests on a competitor's machines, falsifying data, misleading and defrauding investors or flat-out lying to the board or manipulating Walgreens into putting her Edison devices in their stores, no bridge proved too far for Elizabeth. Rarely asking the most basic of questions or making any concrete demands, the prospect of these executives actually seeing the lab becomes a long-running joke, as Holmes bends over backwards to ensure it never happens. That it doesn't, and for so long, might be the most shocking revelation to come out of all this, with them misdirected to such an extent that they're running in circles to keep up.

Most of the supporting players can almost be categorized into two groups: marks and doubters. For every supporter like Walgreens' Jay Rosan (a great Alan Ruck), who's ready to put the machine in stores right now, there's a Kevin Hunter (Rich Sommer), seeing this for the sham it is. Unfortunately, those sane voices keep getting drowned out by greedier, more powerful ones who have already been taken in. The biggest sucker is board member George Shultz, who'd sooner disown his grandson, Tyler, before acknowledging the blatant evidence of this scam. His excuse later about the lengths a decent person will go  when they believe they're right isn't as applicable to him as he wishes. He's a fundamentally indecent, self-entitled windbag who turns on his own family, but Waterston doesn't play him that way, evoking emotions in the viewer that evoke more pity than frustration. 

Tyler and Erika might be the only two characters who are morally beyond reproach, questioning the right things for correct reasons. Young and with seemingly less to lose, they become Elizabeth's biggest threat, and even as Erika has considerably less cover than the well connected Tyler, he still suffers quite a lot for his honesty. Desperately wanting to believe in Holmes' vision and what it means for their generation's future, no one's more disappointed than them, which proves to be the catalyst for their willingness to bring her down. 

In one of the series' best and most disturbing scenes, Tyler uncomfortably serenades the Theranos founder with a self-penned song at her party, complete with lyrics about the innovators she always dreamed of being mentioned with. Dylan Minnette nails it as a terrified Tyler, with his voice trembling and head down, he looks like a deer in headlights, struggling to get through this, only to have her make him sing it again. By this point, she's guzzling her own Kool-Aid, as if a roomful of guests unironically wearing Elizabeth Holmes masks wasn't already creepy enough. 

With full force, Holmes targets detractors and potential whistleblowers within the company, as Sunny Balwani transitions from her secret, much older boyfriend to company COO and designated hatchet man. The trajectory of this relationship is such that their personal and professional lives become inseparable, eventually creating a legal entanglement where one almost has to turn on the other. It's a far, pathetic cry from how we see their friendship begin when she's just 19, even if there is an odd co-dependent, parasitic element that's present from the start. 

Elizabeth and Sunny are both too hard headed and damaged to really make this work, each of their inferiority complexes in constant battle to retain the upper hand. In what's easily Naveen Andrews' best work since Lost, he depicts a man who appears at first as a zen-like mentoring figure, only to eventually succumb to the power and control he thinks he has in Theranos and over Elizabeth. But he doesn't stand a chance, as she always stays a few steps ahead in the blame game. Her sometimes frightening lack of emotion and empathy serves as both a defensive mechanism and weapon to tear down whomever stands in her path, whether it be Sunny or long suffering, well-intentioned engineer Ian Gibbons, who experiences the worst betrayal of all. 

That Elizabeth never learned how to be herself becomes a recurring thread, as we're given a glimpse into a traumatic event she experienced at Stanford that informed her future behavior to an extent we'll never completely understand. The series wisely doesn't dwell on it because neither did she. And that's exactly the point. It wasn't processed so much as put away in a drawer and buried, informing so many of her actions since. Of course, none of this is presented as any kind of excuse, just one of many components that contributed to the crimes she would perpetrate against those who wanted to believe in her, or at least in the idea of her. 

"Do or do not. There is no try." Those are the words Holmes lived by and took to the extreme, and even if we can acknowledge the obvious adorkability in Yoda being her most worthwhile teacher, it's also kind of sad since so few candidates were better qualified for the position. Certainly not her parents or cantankerous neighbor Richard Fuisz, who spends most of his time loudly whining, complaining and suing over not being asked for advice.  

While the end result of Fuisz's actions can be praised in causing Holmes to finally be held legally accountable, his underlying motivations shouldn't be. An angry, bitter man primarily driven by various shades of jealousy and sexism, he sure is hard to root for. Played with entertaining abrasiveness (and a comically gigantic prosthetic forehead) by an unrecognizable William H. Macy, it's hard to ignore how he patronizingly lectures a young, disinterested Elizabeth in front of her family. 

Even in addressing a self-assured teen who thinks she knows everything, Fuisz couldn't come off any worse, to the point that you can't help but wonder if these kinds of interactions aided in creating the monster Elizabeth became. In hindsight, him tipping off of the Wall Street Journal could be looked at through a less altruistic lens, like a make good for being a part of the problem rather than any kind of helpful solution. In other words, he owed us. 

A more practical, though no less direct approach is taken by Stanford professor Phyllis Gardner (a no-nonsense Laurie Metcalf), who forecasts that Holmes just doesn't have the cognitive or scientific know-how to attempt this. While she does underestimate this girl's determination (and kind of views her as an airhead), you almost have to admire just how accurate she is. We get the impression this probably isn't the first student to come to her with their great idea and won't be the last. It's also likely she's never met a student who made it as far on so little as Elizabeth. Gardner sees what everyone else can't, and much earlier.

Elizabeth's fully aware how much harder this will be for her as a young woman, but rather than double down on work and preparation, all of her energy is poured into the deception. Partially stemming from self-doubt but only encouraged by Sunny's warnings of being liked rather than respected, the previously free-spirited, quirky girl-next-door adopts an entirely new facade. A sort of Steve Jobs cosplay, complete with that trademark black turtleneck. 

Many wondered how Seyfried could possibly replicate Holmes' fabricated deep baritone voice, her most desperately obvious attempt at being taken seriously as a CEO. But knowing better than to attempt any sort of imitation, Seyfried instead captures the tone and incantation, while letting her tense smile and super-sized saucer eyes do the rest. And by avoiding any kind of mimicry at all, she ends up coming closer to what our perceptions of the real person is, regardless of whether or not that's true. 

Seyfried's performance operates on multiple levels, saying one thing while her facial expressions frequently betray that, as the character works hard to convince herself the warped words she speaks are grounded in truth. Living entirely in her own reality, Elizabeth may be complicated, but every facet of what Seyfried brings to this role completely reflects that, as does the soundtrack. 

Leaving little doubt exactly where and when we are, she rocks out to '00 keepers like the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Y control," Len's "Steal My Sunshine" and Wolf Parade's "I'll Believe in Anything." And that's just the first episode. While these selections probably earn Holmes more indie cred than she actually deserves, it's fun to imagine they pulled her playlist while also providing the story with perfect, period-accurate window dressing. 

The Dropout finishes almost exactly how it began, with Elizabeth running. It hints that through all the mental and emotional gymnastics she went through to suppress the enormity of her crimes, she knows. And with a single primal scream comes that acknowledgment, at least until it's time to shut that all down, put on a smile, and start the whole thing over again. Being at the forefront of what was purported to be a revolution for women in technology, Elizabeth Holmes unfortunately guaranteed a far rougher road ahead for every aspiring female entrepreneur who follows, especially the good ones. The biggest question we're left with is whether she ever cared at all.

Room

Director: Lenny Abrahamson
Starring: Brie Larson, Jacob Tremblay, Joan Allen, Sean Bridgers, William H. Macy, Tom McCamus
Running Time: 118 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

                                         **Spoiler Warning: The Following Review Contains Major Plot Details**

The events that unfold in Lenny Abrahamson's Room are something we see frequently covered in the news, but without ever truly understanding or processing its ramifications or how it affects the victims involved. In fact, there's probably a good chance the actual crime is happening somewhere right now as I'm typing this. A young girl or woman is abducted, being held captive in some undisclosed location by her kidnapper. Her family eventually gives up hope. Years later, she's found. The media descends. The requisite interviews take place. The family rejoices. Everyone rides off into the sunset and goes on with their lives.  

Room isn't about any of this. It's a movie that makes us read between the lines to see and feel the psychological and sociological implications of being trapped in that scenario. And then it dares to go even further, satisfying those like myself who believe the best part of Cast Away was when he returned "home," and had to not only adjust to a new world around him, but live with the memory of an experience that made him an entirely different person than before he left. It takes that basic idea and ups the ante, adding another component that's absolutely gut-wrenching in how it organically pulls and pushes your emotions to the breaking point without a hint of manipulation.

The plot details of the screenplay (adapted by Emma Donoghue from her own best-selling 2011 novel) are almost incidental, as the commercials and trailers freely gave away what most would consider spoilers under different circumstances. It's also an ordeal, albeit one built on the foundation of logic and sound decision making by the filmmakers. And none of it comes together without the two performances at its center, functioning as a single unit. One from an exceptionally gifted child actor and another from an actress who's work has steadily been building to this for a while now, filling in the final piece of the puzzle that should deservedly garner her all the acclaim and attention she deserves.

Kidnapped seven years ago, a young woman (Brie Larson) is being held in a small shed with her young son Jack (Jacob Tremblay), whom he refers to as "Ma." With a ceiling skylight and television being their only limited exposure to the outside world, she creates a small universe for him inside this confined space, which fosters his often fantastical imagination. Their captor is a bearded man they've nicknamed Old Nick (Sean Bridgers), who keeps the boy paralyzed with fear in his bed with his nightly rapes of Ma, one of which he resulted from.

After reaching his milestone 5th birthday, Ma decides Jack's now old enough to know the truth of how they got there, while also realizing she'll need his help and cooperation to escape. After failed attempts at this in the past, she's formulated a plan she feels could work if both demonstrate the necessary courage and resourcefulness to carry it out. And they do. But what happened in that room is only the beginning, as their adjustment to the real world carry challenges Ma couldn't foresee, proving to be as formidable a challenge as any obstacle they both faced in Room.

What's most appreciated is how the film gets into it right away, trusting the performances to tell a story no amount of exposition or flashbacks could convey as effectively. Initially, we have no idea who these two are other than that they are mother and son and can only guess at why they're living in this small room, though the cards start falling quickly into place. As does this wonderful, stream of conciousness narration from Jack, which would in any other circumstance come off as the babblings of a possibly dim child with a limited concept of the world around him. But because this room is all he knows and his world literally begins and ends with it, they could in this context be viewed as perfectly reasonable questions and often fascinating observations

Besides not knowing what's out's there, Jack doesn't even know what "out there" means, making the first hour of the film play as this fascinating sociological experiment of sorts, seeing how a mother would raise her child within the confines of four walls and a skylight. It's Larson who makes this dynamic so compelling, right up until the moment it's time to come clean to her son and enlist his help, regardless of his anger at the idea. But it's only valuable to analyze as an experiment until it isn't, which is any time the shed door unlocks and Old Nick makes an appearance. Then it's just plain terrifying. Because we're seeing everything through small Jack's eyes, the glimpses we get of their bearded, twisted captor and the control he exerts, seem only that much worse. You envision that the person who did this must be as evil and twisted as can be, and Bridgers' brief appearances fill the quota, even as some of his worst actions take place off screen or through wardrobe closet door slats.

If my heart was in my throat up to this point, the escape has it nearly pounding out of my chest. Without giving away too many details, the screenplay takes what should be a completely implausible plan into the realm of total plausiblity by presenting a logical series of events that don't go down without a hitch or two, but just well enough to not stretch credibility too far. Extremely competent police work, a few (but not too many) lucky breaks and one really smart bystander basically converge to create the most excitingly filmed and performed sequence of the year.

Shot completely from the perspective of 5 year-old Jack seeing the outside world for the first time, every camera shake has your palms sweating in anticipation of how things will pan out. And all this tension is created despite our general knowledge of the outcome. Reaching its emotional crescendo and fully invested in two characters we've known a mere 30 to 40 minutes, there's already been more than enough substance to fill an entire feature. But then the realization hits that Abrahamson is just getting warmed up and most movies would end where this one arguably begins.

Seamlessly shifting from nail-biting, single location thriller to moving coming-of-age tale, Joy Newsome (Ma's real name) is reunited with her mom and dad, returning to a reality in which she's lost 7 years of her life and her parents (brilliantly played by Joan Allen and William H. Macy) now have a grandson. And it doesn't skirt the fact that to some he could be viewed as a living, breathing, walking symbol of an event that destroyed everyone's lives.

Here's where it's important to tread carefully in revealing details because Abrahamson's commitment to making even the tiniest of them resonate is what makes the rest of the picture so special. And it's here where Larson really plunges the depths of this character in much the same way she did a couple of years ago in Short Term 12, taking a strong-willed caregiver and completely unraveling her as inner demons take over. Before long, it's apparent she's plummeted into near-helpless state.

Mother and son quite nearly switch roles, with Jack having to stay strong for her as he's exposed the endless possibilities of the world ahead of him. Ironically for Joy, despite no longer being a prisoner, she's as trapped as ever, with the walls rapidly closing in on her in ways they never did inside that room. None of this is outright acknowledged, but instead conveyed by Larson and Tremblay's potent performances, which hit completely different notes than in the film's first half. While he stays clear of any precociousness that could have seeped into the role had another child his age taken it, she has these quietly devastating moments that let us know how much of her identity is gone.We see it in conversations with her parents or reaction upon returning to her childhood bedroom and looking at an old picture.

Joy must also have to deal with public perceptions and living this new life, at least temporarily, inside the media's fish bowl. There's a point during the third act when she's confronted by a surprising and seemingly ruthless question that causes her to go off the deep end. But once you get past the coldness of it, the question is just as surprising to us since it's a seemingly obvious observation we never considered either, inviting serious introspection to come up with a valid answer.

Whether it was a deviation from Donoghue's novel or not, the decision to start the film where it does and forego backstory to focus primarily on the aftermath was a valuable one. It's also a relief that we never see the initial kidnapping, which now looms so terrifyingly large in our minds that no scene, no matter how expertly filmed, could possibly match it. And it's Larson's performance, which brought this reviewer to the edge of tears throughout, that renders any additional narrative or explanations unnecessary. It's true that without Tremblay it couldn't be possible, but even truer that it couldn't all come together without Abrahamson's inventive direction, which is far more creative than expected given the claustrophobic subject matter. He previously directed last year's Michael Fassbender wears a giant papier-mâché head music biopic, Frank, and while that was a decent enough watch, there weren't many previous hints he had something like this in him.

Upsetting and polarizing for good reason, this was far from a slam dunk by description alone, but on screen it all converges in a gripping, ingeniously structured way few literary adaptations have managed. When films put characters through horrific ordeals, it's rare we get to see an aftermath, much less a detailed one. This takes care of one of my biggest pet peeves by crafting this giant epilogue, spending all the time available letting us inside the heads of these characters. While much of the conversation will undoubtedly revolve around the emotional power of the mother-child bond and its two shattering performances, Room inspires far more thought and contemplation than it's getting credit for.