Ink Review

There’s a raucous energy to the start of director Danny Boyle’s Ink, which seems to match the film’s subject. Spurred on by Rupert Murdoch’s money, a ragtag crew of muckrakers is going to upend England’s journalism establishment. Good for them! Except it doesn’t go the way they intend. In fact, like the movie itself, many miscalculations are to follow.

Adapted by James Graham from his stage play, Ink launches itself headlong into Murdoch’s (Guy Pearce) mission to reboot the tabloid newspaper The Sun in 1969. The aforementioned crew is led by Larry Lamb (Jack O’Connell), who chafes against the rigid constraints of London’s Fleet Street. Following the tenets of an underdog narrative, it’s not hard to enjoy Lamb’s reckless rise as he motivates the office (including Claire Foy, in a thankless role) to join him in tearing up their sense of journalistic ethics. We know what they’re doing will turn out wrong, but sure, why not take the powers-that-be down a peg. In this, Boyle’s usual manic touches serve him well, as he rips through the script’s ideas with glee. Once the narrative tips into its second half, however, the film’s momentum grinds to a halt despite its ripped-from-the-headlines approach. What’s worse, Pearce’s Murdoch somehow cedes the villain’s role to O’Connell, becoming a mere bystander in the Sun’s craven machinations. Sorry, maybe Lamb was as bad as all that, but giving Murdoch, the architect of Fox News, a pass scans as offensive. Are we supposed to believe he somehow lost his nerve once the Sun made it to the top of the heap?

In truth, O’Connell’s performance in Ink is seductive by design, ensuring the film’s outcome and The Sun’s efforts appear all the more disgusting. An expressive montage at the climax points to our current media ecosystem to underline this point. What’s funny, though, is that it includes AI-generated images, which, however brief, also suggest that the point may have gone over Boyle’s head.