Sean Penn uses Zelenski to talk about himself
The film explores a long‑standing issue in cinema: the flaws of traditional masculine identity and how those flaws have often been expressed in ways that harm others, particularly women. At Berlinale, this Saturday, Manodrome is positioned as a bold attempt to examine how a culturally dominant, strained model of manhood affects a psychologically fragile protagonist.
The director, John Trengrou, who hails from South Africa, insists that his aim goes beyond presenting a single movement or a superficial stereotype fostered by online personalities. He explains that the project probes a broader crisis: men who shut down their emotions, overcompensate with aggression, and cultivate a veneer of superiority that masks vulnerability.
The film does not set out to celebrate or condemn a particular political faction or internet phenomenon; instead it seeks to illuminate the interior turmoil that drives a man toward a perilous path of self‑definition.
Manodrome centers on an Uber driver who wrestles with the fear of impending parenthood and the looming loss of his job. He hides deep traumas—abandonment by a parent, a childhood marked by overweight years, and attractions that have not found acceptance—beneath the muscle he works hard to build. His body becomes armor, a visible symptom of inner struggle, and the tension between appearance and reality becomes a driving force in the narrative.
Jesse Eisenberg delivers a commanding performance that conveys terror, fragility, and anger—emotions he wields like a shield. Adrien Brody plays a provocative guru who leads a cult that equates masculinity with humiliating women, a role that blends charisma with a dangerous edge. The dynamic between the two actors fuels a tense, uneasy energy that anchors the film and invites scrutiny of broader social dynamics. The film leans into a stylistic synthesis drawn from various influences, borrowing rhythmic elements and mood from different cinematic traditions rather than mapping a direct, real‑world counterpart. It sometimes hints at connections to misogyny and covert sexuality, hinting rather than asserting, and it often invites the audience to question the boundaries between performance and reality. [Citation: Berlinale coverage and festival interviews]
Sean Penn uses Zelenski to talk about himself
The antihero’s fate appears to be sealed from the outset, and as the story progresses the sense of inevitable decline grows stronger. The film follows a trajectory where salvation feels increasingly out of reach, and the audience is guided through a landscape of personal ruin, strained relationships, and escalating inner conflict. The tonal shifts keep the viewer off balance, mirroring the protagonist’s own unstable sense of self and the precarious balance between control and surrender. This is not merely a tale about anger or aggression; it is a meditation on the costs of living inside a constructed ideal that demands perfection and punishes the human need for tenderness.
In performance, the film achieves its intensity through careful pacing, stark imagery, and a willingness to dwell on uncomfortable truths. The central character’s oscillation between bravado and vulnerability creates a continuous tension that propels the narrative forward, inviting viewers to consider how much of what passes for strength is really fear in disguise. The supporting cast anchors the story, offering counterpoints that illuminate the protagonist’s choices while underscoring the broader themes of identity, belonging, and the fragility of personal control. [Citation: Festival press notes and critic roundups]