Old Sheriff Joe Cross is a crosspatchety, resentment-filled conspiracy theorist. Because it’s 2020, this time it’s face masks. But he’s also very fond of guns; breathlessly chanting the mantra against the so-called deep state; and making things up.
After he makes up a story about his wife—that she was abused aged sixteen by the man he has decided to stand against in the upcoming mayoral election—she promptly leaves him. Meanwhile, at work, Black Lives Matter marchers are on his patch; he can’t get to grips with his small team; and takes sides in explosive clashes between shoppers and managers at the local supermarket.
“Eddington” (Universal), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, bodes well; for the first two-thirds it is decent enough. The moral of the tale—cleverly linking the shoeless homeless man in the first sequence to the ribbon-cutting smile-a-thon which closes the film—could be summarised as “the corporation always wins.” Having backed the incumbent mayor, slickly played by Pedro Pascal, the local notable assisting “SOLIDGOLDMAGIKARP,” a technology company, by influencing local politicians to wave through planning permission for a massive data centre, switches horses as needed to get it built no matter who wins. Sheriff Joe’s mother-in-law, who is an encyclopaedia of conspiracy theories and spends much of the film reeling these off to herself, ends up on the side of the corporation, because the hidden dark powers controlling the world don’t want the data centre built.
A friend of mine who worked at a supermarket during COVID recalls that the staff were placed into an impossible situation—expected to mediate between those customers who believed they had the right not to wear a face mask and resented staff who asked them to wear one, and others who asked to speak to a manager to complain vocally every time they saw someone in the cheese aisle without one on. A perfect record of those times is created in a surprisingly effective scene in the grocery store. Sheriff Joe backs a non-wearer’s right to not wear and eventually buys his shopping for him after the man is thrown out. Some of the shoppers look the other way as Sheriff Joe interferes. But others do exactly what people do these days, taking out their array of smartphones to post it all on social media. This detail adds great insight to the scene.
The vivid street protest against police violence (“The cops and the Klan go hand in hand”) is also believably executed. Sheriff Joe and his high-spirited deputy (dressed in full-combat gear) can’t control the crowds, but are even more lost when the demonstrators simply sit down on the road. The use of placard-waving, authentically-dressed, student-aged extras in the scene, filming and shouting and baiting, creates a few minutes of real tension. The rank incompetence of the Eddington police is front-and-centre of this scene and then the rest of the film that follows.
Another area the film covers quite convincingly is the debate over anti-racism. One of the white students leading the protest on behalf of Black people makes a speech saying he is there to listen. The irony isn’t lost on him that it is he—rather than anyone Black or Hispanic—who is making the speech. My best guess is that the point of highlighting the white people in the cast is to show that they dominate the conversation not just at protest marches but everywhere. White people really don’t have a problem being heard. If this theory is right, the film is best described as a political thriller.
A great deal of thought has been put into the details of the production design. Take Gunther’s Gun Headquarters, also known as “Pistol Palace.” Or the crazy campaign car Sheriff Joe drives round, conspiracy theories plastered on taxi-sign billboards on the roof, a huge Stars and Stripes fluttering from the back, bunting draped round the wheels and slogans like “This isn’t about your health, it’s about control” pasted onto the bodywork. Or mother-in-law’s bedside table, printer ready and waiting for the whole household to read the latest conspiracies together in hard copy. Or the kitchen sink full of dishes to emphasise the unmanageability of the domestic arrangements. Or Sheriff Joe’s social-media feeds; as he watches and re-watches videos of his unhinged self, his twisted ideas are magnified by leaps and bounds, for instance with adverts for hydroxychloroquine as a treatment for COVID. Or the “double-distanced” youngsters congregating in a park wearing their face masks round their chins.
Deirdre O’Connell, as Sheriff Joe’s mother in law, and Matt Gomez Hidaka, as the Mayor’s son Eric, both stand out as deeply complex and utterly believable characters. William Belleau, playing a Pueblo cop, is the only competent one among them and his suspecting face mirrors what the audience already knows about the cantankerous Sheriff. A smart decision to compose a classical-music score produces an excellent soundtrack. And much of the film is set in the dark—a good reason to see it on the big screen—and the lighting is outstanding (for instance the scene where Sheriff Joe’s wife is leaving him is lit only by the headlights of the departing taxi).
It’s a pity that this film gets really lost at the end. The change in direction is established by a speech even more paranoid than normal by Sheriff Joe, “People of Eddington like guns. I encourage them to own guns. They will blow you out of their houses with their guns.” And so, another lazy Hollywood film obsessed with gun-soaked violence. Perhaps the filmmakers think that disagreements within communities like this always end up in deadly conflict. But that’s quite obviously not true.
“They’re coming after me!” Sheriff Joe cries at one point during the inept handling of the street protest, “I’ll be right back.” “Yeah right,” quips one of the perceptive shopkeepers, “Were you even here?”
Adam Poole
29th August 2025
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