January 2021 was certainly a seminal moment for Americans emerging from the hellscape year that was 2020. After battling a continuous once-a-century pandemic, people were uncertain of their economic trajectories. Yet, in the bowels of WallStreetBets, a subgroup of small retail investors (known as “dumb money” by the elites on Wall Street) were united in the goal of driving up the stock price of GameStop, a brick-and-mortar videogame store. Led by everyday Americans (college students, nurses, low-wage store clerks) using their small savings to invest, their actions led to the shattering of the illusory bubble of the financial sector. Meanwhile, hedge fund managers such as Gabe Plotkin (Seth Rogen) of Melvin Capital held a sizable short position in GameStop, only to look like imbeciles by shorting the stock.

This is how Craig Gillespie’s Dumb Money (2023) opens. Gabe is baffled at how the stock is rallying upward as more people buy in the craze, costing him billions of dollars. He looks even more confused to see the person behind this stock blowback, slightly slack-jawed at a young baby-faced Paul Dano’s Keith Gill, known as “Roaring Kitty” on YouTube. “How could this bandana-wearing, baby-face-looking yokel be behind the middle finger to the Gabe Plotkins of the world?”

Gillespie’s docudrama rewinds to the middle of the pandemic. Keith lives in Boston, working as a broker for MassMutual with a loving wife (Shailene Woodley) and a young baby girl at home. Keith notices hedge fund investors held a huge short position in the Gamestop stock (roughly 84%) and becomes convinced the hedge funds shorting GameStop are underestimating its business model and have no inkling with everyday people who shop for video games. He takes the little seed money of $53,000 and buys the stock, bullish it will exceed expectations. 

He posts his long position to his YouTube channel and on the subreddit WallStreetBets—a subgroup of day traders and small-level investors with no filters for insults, lurid comments, and speculations on risky trades—to the bafflement and ridicule of everyone. At the same time, Plotkin, Steve Cohen (Vincent D’Onofrio), and Ken Griffin (Nick Offerman) are doing better than ever, as their net worths reach billions. 

The film chronicles how Keith’s legion of fans slowly accumulates, and as the stock price keeps surging, more people jump on the bandwagon. What initially began as an opportunity for making a juicy trade for an undervalued stock materialized as a financial battle between hedge fund billionaires and everyday people. As people keep buying the stock, Gabe’s fund continues to lose billions as he has to keep buying more stock to limit his losses, thus causing the price to surge even more. (This is known as a Short Squeeze.)

Gillespie tracks the film within a breezy framework that almost works counterintuitively to the message of the little guy striking back at the elite. The film moves at such a brisk pace there is hardly enough development outside of Dano’s Gill, as everyone receives short snippets of screen time that feel more perfunctory than organic. Kirk Baxter‘s slick editing intercuts with some of Keith’s viewers, which include a nurse, Jennifer (America Ferrera), a college couple racked with student debt, Harmony (Talia Ryder), and Riri (Myha’la Herrold), and a low-wage employee of Gamestop, Marcus (Anthony Ramos). All these characters watch Keith’s bet as an assurance that if someone of similar economic stature is convinced of this stock being successful, they can surely take a risk in the hope of achieving some economic security. 

But we know so little—other than the surface-level details—that the film plays out like a condensed limited series rather than a high-stakes drama. 

Even more characters feel forced, as we get nonessential scenes of Gill’s parents and his obnoxious slacker brother, Kevin (Pete Davidson), that only add to the overstuffed ensemble that allows little-to-no breathing room. Davidson plays up the loser schtick but to a grating effect that comes across as a poor attempt at humor to avoid the film feeling dense and opaque in all the stock jargon. And let’s add Vlad Tenev (Sebastian Stan) at the one-hour mark as the co-founder of Robinhood, the online trading app that many characters use to trade stock. His ethos of democratizing trading to people becomes integral as he works with hedge funds to suspend Gamestop trading so no more shares are issued. 

Gillespie and co-writers Lauren Schuker Blum and Rebecca Angelo are more interested in hitting bullet points for a high school paper than digging deep into the machinations of how this happens and what led to this moment. There is an expansive film waiting to break free from the constraints of its hodgepodge of scenes, hoping they seem cohesive. The condensed nature of Dumb Money robs the film of its focal points of disseminating its Wall Street speak. For all the faults and cynicism placed on Adam McKay’s The Big Short (2015), it does an excellent job of extrapolating the technicalities of complex subjects and operating a balancing act with a core ensemble interwoven in the design. 

There’s a faux populism rampant in Dumb Money that feels artificial in its construction. The film introduces each character with a small on-screen text of each person’s net worth, setting up the dramatic change they’ll encounter once they invest in the stock. Yet, outside of their debts and passionate frustrations lambasting the wealthy, their worth is as simplified as the numbers on screen. The film glances at following everyday people, but they receive no perspective that’s pointed or substantial outside of their anxiety of losing their money on a stock they followed because someone on the internet told them to buy. 

People were hurt during this time; many jumped the wagon too late and lost more than they gained. One such is Ferrara’s Jennifer, as she demonstrates how being self-righteous and feeling like she’s part of a rebellion can have you holding the bag. Sadly, the film doesn’t allow that character to reconcile with her decisions or attitudes toward following the Reddit financial mob.

Dano’s performance is top-notch, imbuing the child-like innocence of someone who graduated in the aftermath of the 2008 crisis, feeling set to lose from the beginning. He doesn’t come across as unhinged when betting their family’s life savings in stock but as someone mannered and unassuming that his online persona grows even beyond his comprehension, as the memes and gifs prevalent over social media encompass his original goal to make money. He didn’t intend to start a revolution, but he will happily be a voice for those without. 

Rogen continues to expand his acting capabilities, as his Plotkin wears the suit of someone who came from nothing and worked to be somebody. Some of the best comedy comes from his obtuse understanding of how the public perceives him as he prepares his testimony to Congress. Rogen’s natural obliqueness adds a pathetic layer of naivety to his performance.

Partially entertaining in spurts while feeling short-handed by the runtime, Dumb Money is a splintered financial comedy that seeks to entertain but yearns for lofty importance. Any inspiration that can be mined is quickly squashed by the universal fact that the house always wins. Whether it’s a casino in Vegas or the stock market, the levers of power will always rig it in its favor. 

Yet the film desperately tries to have a disingenuous ending and is afraid of confronting the harsh truths of our capitalistic world. Gabe Plotkin lost billions, but he was bailed out quicker by his friends than Ferrear’s single-mother nurse tending to COVID patients. Gillespie breezes over this fact in favor of ending with Gill’s show-stopping monologue to Congress. One can’t help but feel a slight discomfort that while a few lucky armchair investors are away enjoying the wealth, the rest of us will resume clocking in and hope another Keith Gill sends us a stock to invest in. 


Review Courtesy of Amritpal Rai

Feature Image Credit to Sony Pictures Releasing via The New York Times