Fair Play

Overview

UPDATE, Friday, October 6, 2023: Fair Play streams via Netflix from Friday, October 6.

Getting engaged isn't meant to be bloody, but that's how Fair Play starts: with joy, love, passion and bodily fluids. What is and isn't supposed to happen is a frequent theme in writer/director Chloe Domont's feature debut, an erotic thriller set both within the heady relationship between Emily (Phoebe Dynevor, Bridgerton) and Luke (Alden Ehrenreich, Oppenheimer), and also in the slick, fast-paced, high-stakes world of New York finance — familiar territory for its Billions alum filmmaker, who also has Suits and Ballers on her resume. The blood arrives via a bathroom tryst at Luke's brother's (Buck Braithwaite, Flowers in the Attic: The Origin) wedding. He pops under her dress, she has her period, he drops the ring that he was going to propose with, she says yes, and next they're betrothed and fleeing out the window to go home. Staged to feel woozily, authentically romantic, the occasion seems perfect to this head-over-heels pair anyway, even if it leaves their clothes stained. Yes, Domont is playing with symbolism from the outset.

Lust isn't a problem for Emily and Luke, clearly, but they've become experts at keeping everything about being together away from work out of necessity. The duo each chases big dreams at the same hedge fund, which has a firm no-dating policy for its employees. So, when they wake up, dress and step out the door the next day, they go their separate ways to end up at the one place — and Emily's finger is glaringly bare. Then something that they've both been hoping would happen does: a portfolio manager sitting above their analyst positions is fired. Next comes a development that they've each felt was meant to occur, too, with the word spreading around the office that's led by the icy Campbell (Eddie Marsan, Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre) and his yes-man flunkey Paul (Rich Sommer, Minx) that Luke is in line for a promotion to fill the new vacancy.

Domont and cinematographer Menno Mans (Forever Rich) want viewers to watch Dynevor and Ehrenreich closely within Fair Play's glossy, steely frames, with the film taking on the cold and corporate hues of its main office setting, and also peering at its leads slowly and carefully. This isn't a strict two-hander, but frequently plays that way — and observing Emily and Luke's every reaction is crucial. One case in point: when Emily receives a 2am phone call from her higher-up Rory (Sebastian De Souza, Pixie), has no choice but to agree to his command that she meet him at a bar, but finds a life-changing conversation with Campbell over a whisky awaiting instead. Here's another: Luke's reaction when she returns home with stunning news for her, but a revelation that he visibly thinks wasn't meant to happen. That climb up that ladder is hers, not his, and he'll be working beneath her.

Dynevor and Ehrenreich each possess a savvy talent for cycling through a storm of clashing emotions in mere seconds — and making the swift change feel not just understandable but believable — as Fair Play captures unblinkingly in its pivotal moments. She can go from dutiful to determined, caring to calculating, and cautious to confident; him from loving to withdrawn, supportive to passive-aggressive, and charming to menacing. Emily and Luke's relationship changes just as swiftly, its steamy days fading into sexless territory all thanks to that coveted job. Resentment seeps from Ehrenreich's pores, and exasperation from Dynevor's. Fair Play doesn't neatly box either Emily or Luke into easy categories, however. When everything shifts in an instant, the film's excellently cast stars ensure that viewers see every iota of complexity. At each point from popping the question onwards, the same proves true, and not just frame to frame and scene to scene.

Domont's Sundance-premiering feature — Sundance bidding war-sparking picture, too, selling to Netflix for $20 million after getting the film festival buzzing — soon becomes an erotic thriller without that much physical slipping between the sheets. While the look is pure now and Donna Summer's 70s classic 'Love to Love You Baby' gets the soundtrack started, there's an 80s and 90s air to the movie, recalling the genre's heyday. That said, this isn't Fatal Attraction (which was just remade as a TV series, and reframed) or Disclosure meets Wall Street. Rather, the entire flick thrums with the heat and charge between its two protagonists, knowing that its psychological duel is all the more knotty because sex, intimacy and love are involved, while also pulsating with the pressure and stress of its high-rolling realm. The tension is palpable and unrelenting, as aided by Brian McOmber's (Hail Satan?) nervy score.

Fair Play doesn't pretend that gender power imbalances don't exist in workplaces otherwise, beyond couples mixing the professional and personal in a cut-throat world and keeping it clandestine. Indeed, it shows that fact, too, and in grim detail. It's there in the salacious whispering by the other male analysts about how Emily got the job from, the strip club drinks and flat-out calling her a "dumb fucking bitch". This isn't a film that's afraid of getting uncomfortable. Fair Play also effortlessly carves into this wealth-chasing field's general soullessness, including with golf clubs being swung around in anger, public dressing-downs and humiliating begging. Still, it never escapes notice that square at the picture's centre sits the type of guy that's doting, encouraging and a dream until he doesn't think that he's on top.

There's no one that's perfect in Fair Play's gaze, as its main performances superbly portray — the ever-reliable Marsan is also chillingly effective — but how men react to women doing well earns extra attention. Seeking power, losing it, trying to retain or reclaim it, forcing it back in the absolute worst way possible: this all bubbles up as well, and viciously. As the gripping film unpacks sexual politics in the workplace, it lays bare insecurities, jealousies and infuriatingly age-old rumours. Domont's movie is sharp, even when it's obvious. It's assured from its libidinous start to its increasingly lurid end, and riveting — even if it's never as gleefully OTT as its genre was famously known for back when Michael Douglas (and only Michael Douglas) would've been playing Ehrenreich's part.