The Moment

Here is a fascinating exercise in not giving the audience what they want. Imagine if A Hard Day’s Night never let The Beatles get through a song, and consisted mainly of the lads lamenting the hardships of being chased by adoring fans while wavering over whether and how hard they should sell out. Such is the core conceit of The Moment, starring Charli XCX as “herself” in a fictionalised account of the end of Brat Summer.

Director Aidan Zamiri’s film was billed as a “mockumentary” in the lead-up to its premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, and that feels about 60 percent accurate. It is certainly funny at times, and at some points takes on the appearance of a documentary. (In a cameo, Rachel Sennott even frets over the camera operator filming her snorting coke. In the most on-the-nose moment, someone asks Charli if it’s “a Joaquin thing” in reference to Casey Affleck’s 2010 film I’m Still Here.) But other times, the presence of the camera is not felt at all, and the film is more concerned about portraying the angst of a successful artist than sending up anything in particular.

The movie isn’t without laughs though. It opens with a strobing title card that reads “FLASH WARNING,” an extreme exercise in too-little-too-late, before cutting to Charli dancing in a strobe light. The film continues the punk madness throughout, with title cards of pixel-shaped fonts in rapidly changing garish colour schemes. In as much as you can read then, these cards help map the travels of Charli and her overworked team in 2024, after the smash success of her acclaimed album Brat.

The Moment’s biggest misstep is making Charli’s defining feature indecisive flightiness. The choice essentially turns her into the villain of her own film, but in an unsatisfying, passive way. Had she developed a more barbed and wicked persona, it might have worked. Likewise, had she appeared as a badass who doesn’t take shit, it might have worked. But XCX’s acting chops aren’t strong enough to portray the nuance of toxic indecision. She feels like a character without agency, which kills the plot’s momentum. A conversation with a celebrity that convinces Charli to make a key decision is particularly unconvincing. She does land a few laughs though, including when she apologises to her wardrobe guy for making him postpone his vacation for the new tour, but then obliviously indicates he might need to postpone it further.

Ironically, the the film rings most true when Charli isn’t around, and we witness the wake of her chaos while she tries to relax at a spa in Ibiza. It depicts a train wreck in the creative process during the upcoming arena tour.

Alexander Skarsgård steals the show as Johannes, a smarmy concert film director who makes the kind of overproduced dreck that Charli and her team detest. Brought on by some self-satisfied record label bros who assured their boss (Rosanna Arquette) Charli was on board, he slowly asserts his dominance with an obsequious smile and an insistence that he only wants what’s best. He clashes with Charli’s creative director and ally in philosophy, Celeste (Hailey Benton Gates) while the star of the show is out of the country, failing to vibe with celebrity spa personnel.

There’s also a subplot involving a Brat credit card, among other bits and pieces. It’s all rather tonally erratic, which may be the point: to capture the spirit of a night club and the emotional ping-pong of Charli’s subject matter. But the uncontrolled chaos makes it difficult for the more farcical elements to payoff. When the setup doesn’t land, it’s hard to have a satisfying payoff.

Reviewed on: 31 Jan 2026