It'd take more than blowing on a cartridge to improve Tetris

 

Video game movies don't have the best track record in terms of overall quality. Tetris, a feature about the creation of this game and the legal logistics behind getting it out to the world, tries to circumvent this issue by making sure it adheres more to a biopic formula than any mold one would associate with Assassin's Creed or Uncharted. In the process, Tetris trades out one frequently flawed storytelling format for another. Tetris has its share of terrific scenes that keep you on the edge of your seat. But, like so many biopics, it's also too stuffed for its own good. Just like you shouldn't cram too many obstacles into one level of a video game, so too should biopics not feel obligated to focus on every single aspect of its central subject matter.

Noah Pink's screenplay for Tetris begins by taking viewers back to the 1980s when Henk Rogers (Taron Edgerton) was selling a video game at a Las Vegas expo where he first came across the video game Tetris. He only had to play with this project for a few minutes to see the potential. Tetris could change the world. The cash-strapped Rogers proceeds to bet everything on working with Robert (Roger Allamn) and Kevin Maxwell (Anthony Boyle) on selling Tetris across various video game formats across the globe. However, to try and secure the handheld video game rights to Tetris just in time for the launch of the Game Boy, Rogers decides to go to the Soviet Union. This is both where Tetris originated and where Rogers hopes to secure the handheld gaming rights from the property's original owners. This journey leads Rogers to discover the creator of Tetris, Alexey Pajitnov (Nikita Yefremov), but also more conspiracies and dangers than he could've ever imagined.

Director Jon S. Baird's greatest visual flourish throughout Tetris is to often render key establishing shots or expository dialogue delivered through 8-bit graphics reminiscent of vintage arcade games. It's a move that echoes Marielle Heller's decision to have A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood's establishing shots realized through toys and knick-knacks in the vein of establishing shots from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. In both cases, it's a visually evocative way of bridging the gap between "reality" and the art that in-universe characters are so obsessed with. Baird's recurring use of video game graphics isn't quite as creative as it could be, but it's still a fun flourish, especially in an opening scene where we see the vastness of Las Vegas rendered like an Atari game.

Tetris has some fun with video game references, but it struggles in making the human drama feel either potent or compelling. Put simply, there's just too much going on in this script. In an attempt to capture every nook and cranny of all that Rogers navigated to gain full control of Tetris, Pink's script feels scattered rather than comprehensive. Glimpses into the lead character's domestic life breeze by so quickly that they register as superfluous rather than tragic. Meanwhile, a budding friendship between Rogers and Pajitnov has some cute moments, but it too doesn't feel fleshed out enough in the grand scheme of the story to be emotionally impactful. Even the dangers of the Soviet Union end up feeling muted within the screenplay. Characters constantly talk about how "dangerous" and "impentrable" the country is but Rogers is always slipping in and out of the territory with such ease that there's never as much suspense to his storyline as there should be. Tetris is comprehensive, but what good is being comprehensive if so much of what you assembled feels half-hearted?

Part of the problem is, unfortunately, Rogers as a character. In his depiction here, Rogers just isn't an incredibly compelling character. He's not a horrible-written figure, but there's not much drama to a straightforward guy whose faith in Tetris is unwavering and doesn't have much personality beyond being able to walk into any meeting and wowing people with his showmanship. It doesn't help that there's some dissonance between the writing of Rogers, which is trying to paint him as a quintessentially nice hero in the vein of a 1930s Jimmy Stewart character, while Edgerton's solid performance keeps hinting at darker, even semi-manipulative shades of the character. In others, Rogers is constantly torn between being Steve Rogers and Harold Hill.

The Russian characters in Tetris tend to be the more interesting characters in the script, which isn't surprising since they've got more concrete emotional stakes in their respective storylines. Rogers can waltz in and out of the Soviet Union, but guys like Pajitnov are stuck inside a country that could make him disappear at the drop of a hat. The tension in Tetris briefly gets a new lease on life when the focus shifts to Pajitnov, but he's just not in the movie enough to elevate the entire proceedings. Similarly commendable are enjoyably over-the-top supporting performances like Toby Jones and Igor Gravuzov, the latter of whom has big Michael Stuhlbarg energy playing an unabashedly creepy Russian officer.

Pleasant performances like these and a generally agreeable air make Tetris a painless viewing experience, but once the credits finish rolling, your mind is bound to drift towards thoughts of how the movie could've leaned more into its potential. If only Jon S. Baird's general camerawork had as much life as the scenes rendered in 8-bit graphics or if Lorne Balfe's score had any sense of personality to it. Even just whittling down the scope of Tetris would've improved things immensely. It's difficult to call Tetris "bad", but it's even more challenging to say it levels up into something special. At least it's better than many video game movies?