Alfonso Cuarón’s ‘Disclaimer’ Poses a Rich Puzzle Where Truth Is the Ultimate Mystery
Alci Rengifo
After a lengthy absence from directing Alfonso Cuarón returns with an unsurprising stint in streaming. Apple TV’s “Disclaimer” is a perfect reminder of why the Mexican auteur has gained such renown over the past two decades. Without his style, this series would easily drag. It is Cuarón’s approach that makes it engaging. He adapts the novel by Renée Knight as an evocative puzzle about the ways perception and self-imagined narratives distort truth. With equal measures of intelligence and slight pretension, this seven-episode series swings from melodrama to moving reflections on loss. On another level, it is about how tell-all books and exposes are not always reliable. When there are axes to grind, emotions can cloud all judgment.
Cate Blanchett is Catherine Ravenscroft, a documentarian based in London with her bland husband, Robert (Sacha Baron Cohen), and a grown son, Nicholas (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who is stuck on being aimless. Mostly because of Robert’s family wealth, they live comfortably enough. A book then arrives for her, titled “The Perfect Stranger.” After diving in, Catherine is soon horrified and sets it aflame. The book was an unwanted gift from Stephen Brigstocke (Kevin Kline), who found the manuscript among things left behind by his late wife, Nancy (Lesley Manville). Stephen is a former teacher driven by the need to get back at Catherine. He blames her for the death of his son, Jonathan (Louis Partridge), 20 years prior in an apparent drowning in Italy. Stephen also has incriminating photos of a younger Catherine (Leila George) posing in lingerie, during what is revealed to have been a possible affair with the younger Jonathan.
After directing a string of notable films about dystopia (“Children of Men”), being marooned in space (“Gravity”), revisiting memories of his Mexico City childhood (“Roma”), and scooping up two Best Director Oscars along the way, Cuarón is doing his version of trying something simple with “Disclaimer.” Form takes over narrative. The plot tends to grind along because every episode takes on an expanded feel, stretching out particular developments. One entire episode is about Robert’s reaction to Stephen’s book, as he breaks down and lashes out at Catherine. Cuarón also cuts between the past and present, or what we perceive the past to be. What he is transitioning to are the passages from Nancy’s book, meaning what develops between a young Catherine, who is on vacation, and a seemingly inexperienced, wandering Jonathan in one version of events. That is the real appeal of “Disclaimer.” While what actually happens onscreen can meander, Cuarón keeps it intriguing by making answers to the main mystery and what we are seeing slip away.
The execution of this series is ultimately its greatest strength. Cuarón reunites with his longtime cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, who collaborates with Bruno Delbonnel to create exquisite scenery. As in Cuarón’s films, the characters inhabit a world that is very much alive. Cryptic meetings at pubs or restaurants take place with backgrounds rich in detail and movement. Twilights are gorgeous and the Italian sequences have a dreamlike quality. The palette grows darker as Catherine moves closer to taking action against Stephen for a final confrontation, yet even then overcast London looks almost ethereal. The style is crucial when this show swerves into moments of melodrama that threaten to get downright silly. Sex scenes between young Catherine and Jonathan think they are erotic, but come across more as outdated Gen X fantasies. You would certainly hear a chuckle if in a theater when Catherine instructs Jonathan on oral sex with a swelling, church-like chorus on the soundtrack.
Dramatically, the better moments deal with the aftershocks of grief. Kline and Lesley Manville bring out the most intense emotions. Manville is especially memorable when her character spirals into an obsession to know how Jonathan must have felt when he drowned. Sacha Baron Cohen is so good as a measured husband finally pushed to a brink that we forget it’s him behind the bookish glasses. Cate Blanchett by now surprises no one with her delivery, giving Catherine intelligence and genuine fear. This cast elevates the material, which with a lesser lineup would struggle to find true dramatic high notes. Cuarón isn’t aiming for twists but for gradual developments. The final episode does take on more of a traditional thriller attitude, and the climax of the plot does have some emotionally shattering material. It just takes a long, though well-crafted, road to get there.
“Disclaimer” is an exercise in good craft. Cuarón is such a good filmmaker we can forgive the more quirky holes in the storytelling, such as why chaos erupts over a novel that some of the characters don’t take the time to properly assess. There is also the funny angle of Stephen using photographs he somehow finds a lab to print out as if supermarket processing shops were still a thing. No doubt the director is trying to make a point about the dangers of certain forms of writing and the immortality of film as a medium. Cuarón’s quirks still outdo the lazy antics of other thrillers on television. The ultimate revelation at the end also packs weight about gender biases when it comes to believing accusations and defenses. “Disclaimer” is the director warming up for a better return with a lush brain puzzle you can simply gaze at.
“Disclaimer” begins streaming Oct. 11 with new episodes premiering Fridays on Apple TV+.