Jack Anderson Keane’s review published on Letterboxd:
"There's no such thing as truth. It's bullshit. Everyone has their own truth, and life just does whatever the fuck it wants."
I honestly did not expect to be as thoroughly immersed in - and engrossed by - the dumbfoundingly unbelievable story of I, Tonya as I wound up becoming.
But with its combination of pulse-poundingly exhilarating ice-skating sequences (shot with the similar intricacy and intensity of Darren Aronofsky filming ballet and wrestling), as well as its caustic and hilariously mean-spirited humour... its 24 Hour Party People-style fourth-wall-breaking commentary on the biopic's inherent inconsistencies and inaccuracies... its heart-stoppingly shocking depictions of acts of brutal physical and emotional abuse... its darkly satirical observations on the cutthroat sports world, the crumbling facade of the American Dream, and the poisonously manipulative influence of the media on people's lives... and the fist-clenchingly frUSTRATING AND GAG-REFLEXIVE STUPIDITY AND INCOMPETENCE OF ALL THOSE IDIOTIC FUCKING MEN WHO RUINED TONYA'S LIFE, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I CAN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT WITHOUT WANTING TO WRING THE FAT NECK OF THAT IMPONDERABLY INSUFFERABLE TWATFACED FUCKHEAD SHAWN ECKHARDT I SWEAR TO GOD--
Phewwwwwwww. Okay, just breeeeeeeathe, and calm your tits, Jack.
But do you see what I mean?
I was so invested in this ridiculous story's various tumultuous twists and turns (which I had no real prior knowledge of, seeing as I was barely even born when this whole thing happened IRL), that I was rolling my eyes, (quietly) sighing and tutting, and frantically gesturing at the screen in sheer horrified disgust... while I was sitting right next to two other people whom I didn't know, but who were equally (if not as over-actingly) as moved by the film as I was.
Truly, there is perhaps no better movie that so perfectly encapsulates the philosophy of "Hanlon's razor", which is:
"Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity."
(Seems a pretty appropriate philosophy for a lot of things these days, eh?)
Anyway, the long and short of it is that I, Tonya was a flabbergastingly amazing experience from beginning to end.
The only real nitpick I have being that many of the soundtrack's needle drops were rather too on-the-nose (like, Mindhunter levels of on-the-nose-ness), but the songs were still great nonetheless, so it's fine.
And yeah, Allison Janney (who's never not given an Oscar-worthy performance in anything she's ever been in) absolutely deserved her Oscar for her performance as Tonya's magnificent monster of a mother.
But can we talk about Margot Robbie, though?
Like, forget about the sex object she was turned into by The Wolf of Wall Street, Suicide Squad, and those skeevily pervy articles that some famous women have the misfortune to have written about them by absurdly fawning men.
In I, Tonya, Margot Robbie is a goddamn force to be reckoned with.
She delivers a frighteningly exposed raw nerve of a performance, heightened with such explosive energy, and heartbreaking melancholy, that you know she is going to one day not have the misfortune of being up against the unbeatable god-tier powerhouse of Frances McDormand, and will soon enough deservedly win her very own Oscar.
You (Mar)go(t), girl!
(Oh, yeah, and: [*insert obligatory Harley Quinn/Bucky Barnes crossover joke here*]...)