Ari Aster’s latest film “Eddington” has sparked intense debate among moviegoers, but one scene stands out as unexpectedly hilarious.
It’s a moment that captures both the absurdity of 2020 and the darker realities of 2025.
The pandemic-era fantasia doesn’t just look backward—it reveals uncomfortable truths about our present moment.
And audiences are laughing, cringing, and rethinking what actually mattered during those chaotic lockdown months.
When Instagram Activism Becomes Horror
Deep into “Eddington,” something strange happens. Darkness fills the screen as ominous horns and rumbling bass create palpable tension.
Then the camera pulls back to reveal the “threat”: an Instagram post showing nothing but a black square with #BlackoutTuesday underneath.
Theater audiences reportedly erupted in laughter both times observers watched the film. That reaction speaks volumes about how quickly cultural moments age—and how performative activism now registers as cringe rather than courage.
Blackout Tuesday emerged in June 2020 as millions posted black squares to their social media feeds, ostensibly in solidarity with Black Lives Matter protests. Critics quickly pointed out how the gesture drowned out actual activist voices and resources.
The Real Villain Isn’t What You Remember
Here’s where Aster’s film reveals its true genius: the pandemic isn’t actually the antagonist.
While characters argue about toilet paper shortages and Dr. Fauci, something far more sinister lurks at the story’s edges. Massive A.I. data centers loom on the outskirts of this New Mexico town, approved by local government officials.
These facilities threaten to drain water resources from an already arid region—a crisis with devastating long-term consequences that eclipses any mask mandate debate.
The film positions viewers five years removed from 2020, creating what observers describe as “sick irony.” Characters fixate on cultural battles that now feel trivial while ignoring infrastructure decisions that reshape their future.
Fighting Yesterday’s Wars While Tomorrow Burns
Aster’s narrative choice cuts deep. We were all arguing about the wrong things.
The pandemic created such overwhelming chaos that communities became distracted by surface-level controversies. Meanwhile, powerful interests made consequential decisions about technology infrastructure, environmental resources, and regional development.
This mirrors reality uncomfortably well. Between 2020 and 2025, tech companies rapidly expanded data center construction across the American Southwest despite water scarcity concerns.
Many facilities consume millions of gallons daily for cooling systems. Local communities often discover the environmental impact only after approvals are granted.
Why “Eddington” Divided Audiences
Reactions to the film have been polarized, with viewers either embracing or rejecting Aster’s approach.
Those who loved it appreciated the layered commentary—how it uses pandemic-era absurdity to illuminate present-day technological and environmental threats. The humor serves a purpose beyond entertainment.
Detractors found the juxtaposition heavy-handed or felt the film exploited recent trauma for artistic purposes. Some questioned whether 2020 has enough distance for effective satire.
Yet both camps reportedly laughed at that Instagram moment, suggesting Aster successfully captured something universal about performative digital culture.
What We Missed While Doomscrolling
The film’s central thesis challenges viewers to consider what captured attention during crisis moments versus what actually mattered.
Key contrasts in “Eddington” include:
- Viral social media gestures versus concrete infrastructure decisions
- Cultural signaling versus environmental sustainability
- Public health theater versus corporate resource extraction
- Individual mask compliance versus collective long-term planning
These tensions resonate because they reflect genuine trade-offs in how societies allocate attention and political capital during emergencies.
Cinema as Time Capsule and Warning
Setting a 2025 film in 2020 creates double vision—audiences simultaneously remember that period and recognize how their perspective has shifted.
This temporal displacement allows Aster to treat recent history almost like science fiction. Behaviors that felt urgent or meaningful just years ago now appear through a different lens.
The technique also suggests current blind spots. What are we missing right now while focused on today’s outrage cycles?
That question lingers long after credits roll, transforming “Eddington” from pandemic commentary into broader cultural critique about attention, priorities, and power dynamics during crisis.
Why Laughter Matters More Than Agreement
That spontaneous audience laughter at the #BlackoutTuesday scene reveals collective processing of shared experience.
People recognize the absurdity without needing explicit explanation. The joke works because everyone remembers both participating in or witnessing that moment—and feeling vaguely uncomfortable about it even then.
Comedy provides permission to acknowledge what felt off without assigning blame. It creates space for reflection rather than defensiveness.
Aster leverages this to smuggle in more serious questions about how crises get exploited, how attention gets manipulated, and who benefits when populations fixate on symbolic battles instead of material consequences.
Whether viewers ultimately love or hate “Eddington,” the film succeeds in making audiences reconsider which 2020 stories mattered—and which 2025 stories we’re still not seeing clearly.