A failing political campaign, a marriage on the cusp of collapsing and a dramatic kidnapping are all storylines that can each easily sustain a feature-length film on their own. But because Netflix’s “Animals” attempts to pursue all three, the result is a disjointed thriller that struggles to develop its characters or provide any sense of meaningful commentary on the issues the film grapples with.
Directed by Ben Affleck, “Animals” follows Mark Kimball (Affleck), a wealthy attorney running for mayor of Los Angeles, whose unhealthy political ambitions are suddenly threatened when he receives an ambiguous phone call that his son has been kidnapped. As the kidnapper demands a substantial ransom, Kimball must find a way to secure his son’s release while attempting to keep the very crisis from destroying his campaign.
But as Mark struggles to gather the ransom, long-hidden secrets surrounding his marriage with his wife, Abigail Kimball (Kerry Washington), and personal life begin to unravel, further threatening his political future as well as his meticulously maintained image of his family.
The film also draws attention to Mark’s housekeeper, Cecilia Trujillo (Adriana Paz) and her undocumented immigrant husband, Ramon (Luis Gerardo Méndez), whose son becomes entangled in the kidnapping. Throughout the film, there is a complicated dynamic between the two families, with one being wealthy and influential and the other constantly living in fear under the constant threat of deportation.
The central problem with “Animals” is its relentless determination to address far more than a two-hour film can reasonably tackle. The film introduces a broken marriage and gradually reveals predictable secrets that challenge the perception of a seemingly perfect couple. But this conflict fails to address the root problem of the expectations surrounding marriage and the extent to which married couples can conceal parts of themselves from one another. Meanwhile, the screenplay attempts to examine political corruption, the shortcomings of the American immigration system and the constant feelings of uncertainty experienced by immigrants under the threat of deportation.
Although all these subjects are individually important and worthy of exploration, the film rarely devotes sufficient attention to any of them, which makes it difficult to have any memorable takeaways from this film.
In particular, the commentary on immigration feels more like a passing acknowledgement rather than a meaningful examination of the challenges immigrants face. Rather than allowing these concerns to come to life, “Animals” uses them as a bridge into other conflicts. The product is a film that repeatedly gestures toward these important notions while refusing to actually engage with them.
Despite his reputation as a renowned actor and director, Affleck struggles to produce a convincing portrayal of Mark, a political candidate whose life is falling apart. For a successful attorney, there are expectations of a baseline level-headedness and composure. But those qualities seem to be nonexistent in Mark from the moment the film begins.
In addition, even though Mark relies heavily on the people around him, the film’s treatment of its supporting characters is lacking. For example, Abigail is greatly reduced to reacting to her husband’s secrets and desperate decisions. Rather than examining her own problems with her role in maintaining the family’s constructed public image, the film gives her very little autonomy beyond confronting Mark. The characters surrounding Mark remain largely underdeveloped, often only existing in relation to Mark and his predicament. The film introduces seemingly complicated characters but rarely allows viewers to understand their motivations beyond what is necessary to move the plot forward.
The exception is Gillian Anderson’s commanding performance as Dayle Burton, a mysterious figure who is brought in by Mark’s manager Sam Allison (Steven Yeun) to help Mark and Abigail navigate the kidnappers’ demands. Her composure provides a striking contrast to the persistent chaos in the film — Anderson portrays Burton with an almost unsettling confidence, delivering each sharp line with the precision of someone who has been through far worse.
Burton also offers one of the few close-to-poignant lines in the film, when she remarks, “Humans are animals who tell stories,” suggesting a broader commentary about what differentiates human beings from each other and how the stories that people create shape their understanding of morality. But amid an overwhelmed plot and a poorly developed cast of characters, Burton’s slightly philosophical observation dissolves into the background.
Timothy Ro is a senior staff writer covering arts and culture.
