Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me since I first heard about Danny Boyle’s Ink: the way we consume media is a direct reflection of the people who control it. And if Boyle’s film about Rupert Murdoch’s rise to power is any indication, that reflection is both dazzling and deeply unsettling. This isn’t just a movie about a tabloid—it’s a mirror held up to the soul of modern journalism, and the cracks in that mirror are glaring. Personally, I think Ink is more than a biopic; it’s a thesis on how power corrupts, how truth bends, and how the line between reporting and manipulation gets erased in the chaos of clicks and headlines.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Boyle and writer James Graham have chosen to frame Murdoch’s story not as a villain’s rise, but as a seductive dance of ambition and ideology. The film opens in 1969, a time when newspapers were still physical objects, not algorithmic engines of outrage. But what struck me most was the way the script leans into the visceral energy of the era—the smoke-filled rooms, the whiskey-soaked arguments, the way words were weaponized like bullets. It’s a world that feels both nostalgic and terrifyingly familiar, like watching a time machine drop you into the birth of the 24-hour news cycle.
Jack O’Connell as Larry Lamb is nothing short of electrifying. The man has always had a knack for playing characters who exist on the edge of moral ambiguity, but here he’s given a role that demands more than just grit—he needs to be charming, ruthless, and utterly believable as a man who sees journalism as a battlefield. Watching him and Guy Pearce (as Murdoch) go toe-to-toe is like watching two titans of ego trying to outmaneuver each other. Pearce, in particular, is a revelation. He doesn’t just play Murdoch; he embodies the man’s relentless hunger, his ability to turn every setback into a strategic pivot. What many people don’t realize is that Boyle’s direction here is almost theatrical, with rapid cuts and kinetic energy that makes you feel like you’re inside the chaos of a newsroom in overdrive.
But here’s the thing: the film’s brilliance lies in its contradictions. On one hand, it’s a celebration of the audacity of Murdoch’s vision—a man who saw the future of media long before anyone else. On the other, it’s a scathing indictment of the very system he built. The critics are right to note the film’s ‘unsubtle’ moments, but that’s the point. This isn’t a nuanced exploration; it’s a visceral punch to the gut. When Bilge Ebiri calls it ‘electrifying’ and a ‘masterpiece,’ I think he’s onto something. The movie doesn’t just show how Ink gave birth to the modern media landscape—it shows how that landscape is already a rotting corpse, feeding on its own sensationalism.
What this really suggests is that Boyle isn’t just making a film about the past; he’s warning us about the present. The ‘solipsistic, techno-feudal morass’ Ebiri mentions isn’t some abstract metaphor—it’s the world we live in now, where truth is a commodity and outrage is the currency. And yet, there’s a strange beauty in the film’s chaos. The way it uses archive headlines, the Dutch angles, the closeups that feel like they’re peering into the soul of the characters—it’s all a reminder that journalism, at its core, is about human connection. But in Ink, that connection is constantly being weaponized.
If you take a step back and think about it, this film is a masterclass in how to make a biopic feel urgent. It’s not about the man, but the machine he built. And in that machine, we see our own reflections—our own complicity in a system that prioritizes spectacle over substance. The critics are right to praise the actors, but they’re missing the bigger picture: Ink is a call to arms. It’s a reminder that the power to shape reality lies not just with the media elite, but with every person who chooses to consume, share, or ignore the stories that define our world. What this film ultimately asks is: when the truth becomes a product, who gets to decide what’s real? And more importantly, who are we willing to let decide it for us?
