Let’s just start off by saying that I should not be seeing the outlines of your lip filler migrating while I’m trying to enjoy the eye candy that is the rendition of King Henry V of England during the 15th century. Yes, I am highly attuned to catching every single minute detail that crosses my screen as I enjoy the films I watch most nights. This includes, but is not limited to, noticing that you, too, are an avid user of the Anastasia dip brow pomade … but why did I see that when you're supposed to be representing the rural gentry of the 1800s? The phenomenon I’m referring to now is “iPhone face.” It's real, it’s an epidemic and it has to stop.
Mine is a valid critique of casting and immersion and — dare I say — isn’t another way to scrutinize women’s appearances under the banner of historical accuracy. In fact, men are equally at fault in this matter. Case in point: Tom Holland in The Odyssey (2026). Even in the film, I could tell that he once had Vine downloaded onto his phone or played angry birds at one point. You see what I mean? Immersion is the pinnacle of film impact. At its core, you’re not simply supposed to be seeing actors perform on a screen — there comes a moment where you start believing you’re witnessing something happen and you feel as though you’re inside the screen, mulling, studying and discerning as the characters themselves do.
Every choice made in a film, from costume and lighting to sound design and casting, is supposed to work together to build a coherent world. The emotional stakes only land if the audience accepts the world as real, at least provisionally. If part of your brain is still tracking that this is a 2020s Margot Robbie wearing a costume rather than a person who has lived their whole life on the Yorkshire moors, the sadness or dread the story wants you to feel gets diluted by that awareness. If one element fails, the seams rip and are exposed. Audiences, or at least speaking for myself, tend to forgive a film a great deal if they’re absorbed in it and notice every incoherent detail once they’re not.
So, should the illusion of audience immersion itself hold, or should Hollywood retire their tried and true habit of recycling the same celebrities over and over again? I can’t trust that method anymore. I saw Margot Robbie in The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) once, and that thick, distinctive Brooklyn accent and stilettos of hers stuck to Robbie herself. After that, she couldn’t be Barbie in my eyes because what do you mean Jordan Belfort’s wife is playing in a movie for kids? I only know her from the heel scene …
I digress. My point is that faces should at least be timeless. If a face doesn’t get coded that way, it becomes a low-risk, high reliability choice — hence why you keep seeing Ryan Gosling being casted for every white man to ever exist. It’s a fine line though. Directors want to avoid having the main characters blend into the rest of the cast while still retaining their riveting faces. While it's impressive how SFX makeup artists transformed Bill Skarksgård into Pennywise, I’m sure it takes even less of an effort to add some minor blemishes to someone’s face to make it look like they haven’t seen a reel about Tung Tung Sahur or whatever the kids are obsessed with these days.
Consider this as my formal complaint, filed somewhere between the makeup trailer and the callback board. You see how Luisa May Alcott described those soft, sultry eyes in my hardcopy of Little Women? That’s exactly what I need to see emulated on screen. Appearances don’t need to be so polished all the time, and that’s not me just being difficult. I’m only asking that directors remember that the whole reason I showed up was to forget, for two hours, that any of this was staged.
Aima Raza is a member of the Class of 2027 in the School of Industrial and Labor Relations. She is a staff writer for the Arts & Culture department and can be reached at araza@cornellsun.com.
