Damien Chazelle returned in 2022 with the release of his epic Hollywood story Babylon, which traces the rise and fall of multiple people working within the industry during the late-1920s. Despite performing poorly at the box office during its release, the movie has garnered awards buzz with multiple nominations at the Golden Globes and regional awards for critics and the industry. Hollywood truly loves movies about itself, and Babylon takes some of the inspirations Chazelle implements in his previous work, like La La Land, and cranks it to the max.

However, one of the most interesting characteristics of Babylon is how it weaves together an elaborate tapestry about the United States as a whole during this time, with a specific focus on Hollywood. The 1920s were a booming time to be working in such an industry, especially during the transition from silent films to sound ones, and before the Hays Code, several movies swung towards progressive topics, including LGBTQ+ ones, and were groundbreaking with diverse representation. But as seen in Babylon, all good things must end, even if abruptly, leading to a lot of hearts being broken in the process.

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The American Dream

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The opening scenes of Babylon unfold like a fever dream, plummeting directly into the story and everything the story stands for. In its opening gasps, it introduces a very pungent metaphor for one of the story’s protagonists: forced to push an elephant up a steep mountain, covered in its feces, he makes it to the top and continues working hard throughout the rest of the movie to achieve his dream. This is Manny, a Mexican immigrant who will do what it takes to get what he wants, even if it means pushing an elephant up.

Manny’s love interest, Nellie, moves to her first acting call, and moves through the different sets cropped up in the California outskirts. This is the film industry in the beginning: a bunch of sets all right next to each other with random people off of the street, as seen with the men from Skid Row that Manny has to get under control. Anyone can make it here, and, as the movie progresses, it increasingly becomes sealed off behind lots and studios. Even the director that Nellie works with at the beginning disappears and is most likely replaced, much to her displeasure. Anyone could attend the massive party at the beginning if they had the right way to sneak inside, but now, in this new world, parties are moved underground for a select few, as seen in Tobey Maguire’s bit as the local mafia boss. He becomes the new Jack Conrad, throwing the wild parties and taking them down a completely new route divergent of Los Angeles’ past.

Perhaps one of the biggest reasons Babylon has been a turnoff at the box office for casual moviegoers is its long run time of three hours, but from a storytelling perspective, it’s a boon. The movie feels like three different films smashed into one because of the drastic changes in the characters’ lives, with new technology introducing different beats and thematic notes as it progresses from one story arc into another. However, because the audience is introduced to Babylon’s protagonists at the peak of their fame, their metaphorical fall from grace comes sweeping like a tidal wave.

Work Hard, Play Hard, Get Nowhere

One of the standout monologues in the entire movie is when Jack Conrad, confronting his newest wife, who’s a Broadway star, goes on a rant about how those working on silent movies are often working-class people with big dreams. He specifically brings up how Broadway shows are unaffordable, and the nepotism runs high with those even in them, implying that it’s an elitist industry as a whole. It’s this moment that’s deeply ironic to watch in the 2020s when nepotism has become a part of the bigger conversation in the acting and art worlds. It is said history is written by elites. When Eleanor has her big monologue about the rise and fall of actors and fame, it hits home the world will never see anything like the first portion of Babylon again.

This clarity is seen throughout Babylon with the characters of Lady Fay Zhu, Manny, and Sidney Palmer. All of them are people of color working in an openly racist part of American history, yet they are working hard to achieve their dreams. They achieve a moderate level of success, but each one of these characters survives the system because they walked away from it. For these three characters, this decision doesn’t feel like a choice — it’s a way to keep surviving. Lady Fay Zhu’s character, who is inspired by Anna May Wong, is directly shown at the beginning of the movie to be supporting her family’s laundry business with her reputation. When the Hays Code sets in, and Manny fires her, it condemns any person of color trying to make it as an actor, not just Fay.

And those who stayed, trying to continue in the industry, were swallowed alive by their demons. Jack and Nellie are the most distinguished examples of this, having continuously chased after the fleeting dream of being relevant and paying the ultimate price for it. In the end, after all the parties, sweeping film sets, and tears put into these movies, only Manny realizes what it was worth in the ending scene: being a part of a movement that, years later, creates nostalgia and joy for someone somewhere. That’s the alluring beauty of Hollywood: even if it destroys us, we continue to seek it out.