I Love Lucy is one of the foundational American TV sitcoms running for 180 half-hour episodes.  The show starred Lucille Ball (Nicole Kidman) and Desi Arnaz (Javier Bardem) as Lucy and Ricky.  When news breaks that Ball was a registered communist, the future of the pioneering show was jeopardized.  Being the Ricardos follows the drama behind the scenes of making the show, the network contending with the news of Ball’s political affiliation, the unstable off-screen marriage of the two stars, and Ball’s desire to make the show the best it can be whatever the cost. 

Aaron Sorkin returns to the directing chair for the biopic produced and released by Amazon Studios.  Far from the first time Sorkin tackles a biopic, Being the Ricardos does not appear to have the same energy on the page as his previous work, made worse by his formless direction.  Despite the glossy images that look like they were printed and pulled from a tabloid magazine, it is not enough to support the uninteresting use of camera movements and setups.  The third directorial effort from the veteran writer finds him continuing his fascination with creatives whose obsession brings about their downfall, but where this film stumbles is its over-framing for what is ultimately a very simple story. 

The film opens documentary style to set the stage for the importance of I Love Lucy with older versions of Jess Oppenheimer (John Rubinstein), Madelyn Pugh (Linda Lavin), and Bob Carrol Jr. (Ronny Cox).  By itself, it would not be a bad way to enter into the story, but the insight they give is of very little value to the overall narrative and they are used as quick and cowardly transitions for when Sorkin grows bored of a plot point, he can cut away quickly to the interview segments as a segue to the next piece instead of having to actually form a natural transition. 

The interviews, however, are not the only framing device employed here as Sorkin’s narrative cuts back and forth in time with truly little difference in style making it an unnecessarily complicated labyrinth to navigate.  He chooses to show us the beginning of Ball and Arnaz’s relationship as well as flickers of her rise to stardom, however without any visual identity of its own, these flashback scenes meld into the main action and make the story harder than it needs to be to track.  To make matters worse, Kidman and Bardem have very little chemistry throughout the film which makes it even harder to track their relationship from the honeymoon period to the infidelity accusations. Without the chemistry, Kidman is unable to really sell the audience that she wants to save her crumbling marriage. 

Where the film does succeed is showing the behind the scenes production week of an episode.  Ball takes great pride in her work, and while the script does paint her as a bit shrewish, Kidman is able to maintain her position as entry point into the film because the actual craft of breaking the story and workshopping the jokes is so fascinating and Ball is clearly able to prove her knowledge and skill in the realm of comedy.  Opposite Kidman and Bardem here is the supporting couple of I Love Lucy, William Frawley (J. K. Simmons) and Vivian Vance (Nina Arianda).  The backstage highs and lows are a delight as these big personalities both mesh and clash together to create something great.  There are also passing references to how Arnaz revolutionized the way I Love Lucy was shot using a three-camera system yet allowed the studio audience an uninterrupted view of the sets.  We as the at-home audience for Being the Ricardos are also treated to glimpses of the writer’s room occupied by the younger Oppenheimer (Tony Hale), Carroll Jr. (Jake Lacey), and Pugh (Alia Shawkat) as they figure out how to handle Ball’s pregnancy on screen and break the famous grape stomping scene among their own brand of studio drama. 

Being the Ricardos is Sorkin without a true thesis behind his words.  On the surface, it has all the trappings of the kind of story and characters that he has proven to be fascinated by, but the arc of the tragedy does not lend itself as well here as it has in his past works.  When looking at his precious efforts as a writer in The Social Network (2010) and Steve Jobs (2015), or his first directorial credit Molly’s Game (2017), these characters all find great success in their field but their dedication to their work is what alienates them.  Ball, here, faces some of that alienation from her cast and producers, but by and large the biggest tragedy the film shows is in the form of her failed marriage. The narrative removes the personal orchestration of the tragedy off of Ball – rightfully so – and attributes it to Arnaz’s cheating, but in doing so the script cannot work off the same pattern of beats that Sorkin is following and found success with using in the past.  The formula does not work here and makes for a convoluted, overlong, and visually stale feature.