Alfonso Cuarón is a filmmaker who’s never compromised his ambition, even when given the reins to major studio productions. Although Cuarón broke out within the Mexican independent film scene with his transgressive adaptation of Great Expectations and his raunchy coming-of-age film Y tu mamá también, he launched his first commercial gambit with Children of Men, a dystopian thriller. Despite its financial underperformance, the artistry on display within Children of Men was proof enough for Warner Brothers, who hired Cuarón to helm the third (and best) installment in the blockbuster Harry Potter franchise. The industry has rewarded Cuarón for his boldness; he’s accepted two Academy Awards for Best Director for the space thriller Gravity and his semi-autobiographical family drama Roma.
Given Cuarón’s track record, it’s easy to understand why he had confidence going into his next endeavor. Although traditional studios are reluctant to assign significant budgets to films with limited commercial potential, streaming services have bankrolled projects for Martin Scorsese, the Coen Brothers, Noah Baumbach, Ridley Scott, and Jane Campion, among others. Given that prestige television has replaced cinema as the dominant form of entertainment for adults that aren’t interested in superheroes and video games, Cuarón’s involvement in an epic, star-studded mini-series at Apple TV+ seemed like the only rational place to take his career next.
Although television fans have grown tired of filmmakers that claim any mini-series they helm is “really just a long movie,” the flaws within this philosophy have become evident. Television’s based on episodic storytelling. Bloat may have been expected from the detail-oriented as Cuarón, but it's strange to imagine why a filmmaker interested in important social issues would find anything appealing in a trashy, shallow work of provocation like Disclaimer.
Based on the bestselling novel of the same name by Renée Knight, Disclaimer is the story of documentary filmmaker Catherine Ravenscroft, played by Cate Blanchett in a role eerily reminiscent of her recent work in Tar. Catherine’s standing within the nonfiction community is challenged when she’s accosted by the retired public school teacher Stephen Brigstocke, played by Kevin Kline. Stephen has long believed that Catherine is responsible for the death of his son, Jonathan (Louis Partridge), who she supposedly met two decades prior. Knowing that Catherine’s reputation has given her a defense against unverifiable allegations, Stephen writes a semi-fictional book about his son’s life, which has striking similarities to the enigmatic events that led to his death.
The mystery in Disclaimer isn’t involving, as it’s no more complicated than a case of “he said, she said.” Once it’s clear that Catherine has hidden aspects of her interactions with Jonathan for reasons that relate to her mental health, the reveal of what their relationship was like is more of an eventuality than a twist. Cuarón’s interest in public response to celebrity scandals would’ve been more compelling if he didn’t paint the differences between his characters too broadly; it's hard to have any nuance to a conversation about wealth inequality when Catherine’s residence is an extravagant London townhouse, and Stephen’s home is a run-down apartment.
This shallowness of characterization is extended to the rest of the cast. Sacha Baron Cohen, a much better dramatic actor than credited for, is given the thankless role of Catherine’s well-meaning, yet sensitive husband, Robert. Robert’s the epitome of a shallow male feminist, as his support for his wife is absolute, up until the point that he’s offended by her inaccessibility; while there was room to unpacked the complex gender dynamics within a celebrity couple, any hint of subtly within Robert’s story arc is evaporated when it’s revealed that he is the leader of a corrupt business enterprise.
Also wasted is Kodi Smit-McPhee, a young actor who seemed appeared ascendant after his Oscar-nominated performance in The Power in the Dog. In the role of Catherine’s drug-addled son, Nicholas, Smit-McPhee plays a character who’s only as interesting as the tragedy inflicted upon him. Smit-McPhee doesn’t do a bad job at playing an obnoxious, unambitious member of Generation Z, but Disclaimer doesn’t dig into the pressure put upon him due to his successful parents. Cuarón is out-of-touch about the socialization of young people, as Nicholas is given few defining characteristics that rise above generational cliches; it's glaring in comparison to the primal depiction of adolescent sexuality in Y tu mamá también.
Cuarón’s adeptness at social realism is a handicap to Disclaimer, as the series’ attempt to challenge the viewers’ preconceived notions is centered on two flashbacks, told from the perspectives of Catherine and Jonathan. It’s obvious which version is authentic, but Cuarón’s attempt to add campiness to the false narrative is awkward. The only instance in which the show’s campiness is legitimately entertaining is an extended sequence in which Stephen has created a false digital persona to lure Nicholas into a trap. While Kline’s allowed to ham it up, any revelations about the insidious nature of social media would only provide a shock to those with no online presence.
Most great directors have at least one misfire in their career; if Steven Spielberg had 1941, Oliver Stone had Alexander, Ridley Scott had Exodus: Gods and Kings, and Steven Soderbergh had Full Frontal, then Cuarón should have the opportunity to rebound after Disclaimer. Nonetheless, a failure that involved so many talented people suggests that television is a medium best suited for showrunners, and not filmmakers that lack an ability to edit themselves.