Malcolm & Marie” Film Review: When Love Becomes Torment

A republished piece from 2020 by Lauren Crespo

Let’s start with the obvious: quarantine has made some of us, broken some of us, and for others, done a bit of both. Whatever side of the pendulum you land on, it’s hard to doubt the boost of hope one can find in a story birthed from creativity in crisis.

Before we get to the heart of the film, one thing must be said: artistry won.
Sam Levinson, John David Washington, Zendaya, and their bare-bones crew of twenty people gracefully demonstrated what it means to live resiliently in your identity. They proved that who you are shouldn’t be chameleonized by external pressures. Pre-COVID conditions may have allowed them to operate more seamlessly as artists, but the constraints of the pandemic didn’t shrink their creativity. Instead, they intentionally created an environment for expression — one both physically restricted and creatively boundless.

This paradox worked harmoniously throughout the film. We have a single setting, but the dialogue takes us everywhere unseen. Where most films compensate sparse dialogue with expansive visuals, this one operates with deep trust in the sheer power of words. The long, calculated monologues, the precision of the soundtrack, and the choice of black and white cinematography collectively underscore one intention: that words can be potent enough to create and destroy worlds. Ask God Himself — “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (Genesis 1:1). Words create worlds.

A round of applause to every creator in this project for honoring that truth. An even louder applause for boldly carving out space for their identities as artists to flourish despite external constraints. It's a principle we can all apply to life, career, and creativity: If space doesn’t exist for you to be you, then it’s for you to make. In times like these — when identities have become negotiable for convenience — may we have the boldness to live fully and unapologetically as ourselves.

Now to the meat and potatoes. Let’s be clear: despite its marketing, this is NOT a love story. No one truly loves here. This is a story of fear and torment — brutal in its depiction. Marie is with Malcolm for comfort. Malcolm is with Marie for convenience. They aren’t with each other for one another. Malcolm met Marie at her lowest point, when she was desperate for safety. This drew out the man within him who longed for a project to fix, reducing her to a concept rather than seeing her as a unique individual.

Concepts make great movies, but they destroy relationships.

That’s why when Marie grows furious about Malcolm apologizing through a song, I felt her deeply. She’s asking to be seen in the details, not by broad strokes. Malcolm, too reliant on his “artistry” as a proxy for manhood, can only muster an apology through someone else’s words. It's the only attempt at atonement he gives, and it rings hollow.

Songs can stir passion, but they cannot cement principle.

Marie may not consciously recognize it, but what she is really mad about is a lack of principle. She’s mad that their love doesn’t stand upon a foundation of accountability and integrity. This is akin to the misunderstanding we often have about the Passion of the Christ. We call it the “Passion” when the reality is that it was Principle that saved us. In the garden, Jesus was grappling with the cross — “let this cup pass from me” (Luke 22:42). It was not passion that pushed Him to obedience, it was principle — loyalty to the Father’s will.

Malcolm & Marie warns the culture about the dangers of a love that rests upon passion alone. Passion has an expiration date. Principle endures.

That’s why Malcolm can forget Marie in his speech.

Nothing in their relationship draws him to fight for more than what excites him. Nothing anchors him when the flame burns low. What existed between them was escapism, not refuge. What started as addiction remained as addiction. Marie never truly got clean; she merely repositioned her addiction from drugs to Malcolm. The pain she receives is the pain she inflicts. Malcolm forgets her just as she forgets him — a tragic dance of mutual neglect.

As a culture, we must remove the spec from our own eye before we critique these characters too harshly. The film is doing us a service as a warning. These relationships only have room to exist because of the addictive nature of the times we live in. When the thrill wanes, we walk away. When things stop feeling like dopamine shots, we assume the connection itself has lost value.

That’s precisely why this film feels more like a horror story than a romance. Fear brought them together, dictated their communication, and kept them chained. We witness an hour and 45 minutes of gluttonous exchanges between two people with appetites that have no floor or ceiling. They are never satisfied, and their love has no roots.

Malcolm & Marie is a film you walk away from feeling unsettled, not inspired. It should serve as a mirror — not a compass — prompting us to journey deeper into understanding what real love is, especially after seeing clearly what it is not.