By Jason Osiason

On paper, Magic Farm has all the makings of a sharp, absurdist satire. An American media crew, lost in a rural Argentinian village, scrambles to salvage their botched assignment by fabricating a documentary about a religious cult. It’s a setup that could skewer cultural exploitation, journalistic ethics, and the absurd lengths people go to control a narrative. Instead, the film meanders through these ideas without ever landing a clear perspective.

The humor leans into deadpan awkwardness, but instead of feeling cutting or incisive, it often comes across as aimless. Characters drift through scenes, some moments landing with a dry, knowing wit, while others feel like loose improvisations left in without much refinement. There’s a detachment to the storytelling that makes it hard to tell whether the film wants us to care about these people or just observe them from a distance.

That detachment extends to the visuals. Amalia Ulman’s signature stylization remains, but something about it feels more hollow this time. El Planeta had a strong emotional undercurrent, its characters felt lived-in, its humor tinged with real melancholy. Here, the stripped-down aesthetic feels almost dismissive, as if the film itself isn’t fully engaged with the world it’s creating. The editing, rather than reinforcing the film’s tone, feels erratic, breaking whatever rhythm might have existed. It’s less an evolution of her style than a dilution of it, less personal, less intimate, more like an experiment in restraint that never quite finds its purpose.

Alex Wolff, at least, seems to be having fun. His comedic timing is impeccable, and he brings a sense of ease to every scene he’s in. If the rest of the film had his clarity of purpose, Magic Farm might have had more bite. But even his presence can’t fully counterbalance a film that too often mistakes disconnection for depth. It’s an interesting misfire, but a misfire nonetheless. [C]