“Melania,” the new documentary about the first lady, Melania Trump, may have been the subject of a huge $35 million marketing campaign, a high-wattage premiere at the Kennedy Center and widespread distribution in 1,500 theaters nationwide. What it didn’t have was a lot of deep access or context from outside voices.
Cameras rolled on Mrs. Trump — who is also a producer of the film — for 20 days last January, culminating in President Donald Trump’s second inauguration. That is fleetingly little time in a medium that usually takes years.
The brevity is presented as an asset in what purports to be fly-on-the-wall filmmaking. The director, Brett Ratner, who has been reportedly living in an eight-bedroom house at Mar-a-Lago, the Trumps’ Palm Beach, Fla., enclave, trails along with Mrs. Trump as she travels in a loop between Florida, New York and Washington, D.C., almost always alone and frequently in silence. She is private, even onscreen in her own movie.
Then again, little about the nearly two-hour film follows the conventions of nonfiction cinema, starting with the astronomical $40 million Amazon MGM paid to acquire it, from Melania Trump’s own production company. What does it capture about the life — or “the family, business and philanthropy,” as she puts it — of the frequently be-hatted two-time first lady?
Here are some takeaways.
Mrs. Trump Allows for Few Revelations
Mrs. Trump does not have a reputation for being accessible, and the documentary upholds that. She is never seen in anything resembling a casual moment: She is always perfectly coifed, made-up and heeled. (Her signature stilettos are frequently center screen, though the eagle-eyed can glimpse her, once, in slippers.)
The film follows along as she undergoes multiple fittings for her inauguration wardrobe, plans events for that day and weekend, and has a few meetings with White House staff (some of whom are shown blowing off a press request about the Amazon deal).
She has a tête-à-tête with Queen Rania of Jordan about initiatives for foster children, and a chummy video chat with Brigitte Macron, the first lady of France, about the deleterious effects of screens on children. “No mobile phone until 11,” Mrs. Trump dutifully writes in a notebook branded Be Best, the name of her youth wellness campaign.
The encounter given the most screen time involves Aviva Siegel, an Israeli who was taken hostage by Hamas with her husband, Keith Siegel, who remained captive at the time of filming. (He was later freed.) She cries as she talks about him, and Mrs. Trump leans in to comfort her.
Otherwise, Mrs. Trump is mostly heard in voice-over. She narrates the whole film, offering facts about the places she is walking through, like Arlington National Cemetery or Blair House, where incoming first families stay before the inauguration. Sometimes she enunciates goals as if she is giving a political speech. “I will always use my influence and power to fight for those in need,” she vows.
She’s a Mama’s Girl
The closest viewers get to Mrs. Trump’s interior life is her many references to her “beloved mother,” Amalija Knavs, who died in January 2024. In the movie, Mrs. Trump speaks often about grief, and about the influence of her mother, a former pattern maker whom she credits, in part, with her love of fashion. She calls Mrs. Knavs “the richest thread in my life,” whose “quiet strength shaped me.” On the anniversary of her mother’s death, Mrs. Trump attends the funeral for President Jimmy Carter in Washington, then, back in New York, goes to St. Patrick’s Cathedral to light a candle for her mother.
She’s Open About Her Immigrant Roots
Mrs. Trump is only depicted with “my husband,” as she almost exclusively refers to him, in ceremonial or official moments. There are a few phone calls between them, but no private dinners together or interactions outside their political roles. (In one meeting to finalize inauguration details, Mr. Trump asks if she has picked a dress yet.)
Notably in an administration whose anti-immigration policies have led to violence, the people Mrs. Trump is regularly surrounded by are immigrants: there’s Hervé Pierre, her French fashion designer, a friend of more than eight years. (“Happy anniversary,” they coo at each other in the film, when the date is noted.) After 22 years in the United States, he became a citizen not long before he dressed Mrs. Trump for the first inauguration. He enthuses about how, as a former model, she and he speak the same language, of sartorial detail and tailoring.
Tham Kannalikham, the interior designer responsible for changing over the White House to Trump 2.0, describes how her family left her native Laos when she was 2, and how the opportunity to work on the presidential residence became part of her American dream.
And Mrs. Trump herself talks about her “journey as an immigrant” from Slovenia to the White House — “a reminder of why I respect this nation so deeply,” she says. “Everyone should do what they can to protect our individual rights. Never take them for granted, because in the end, no matter where we come from, we are bound by the same humanity.”
When her father, Viktor Knavs, appears — one of the few people to give an on-camera interview — he speaks largely in Slovenian as his daughter smiles beside him.
She’s Proud of How Barron Trump Has Handled Public Life
Barron Trump, now 19, is seen but almost never heard in the film. (Mrs. Trump’s four stepchildren make even less of an impact; she never mentions them.) She does talk about her pride in how her son has navigated his unusually public childhood; he was 10 at the start of the first Trump presidency. As he grows up, “it’s very important that he lives the life he wants to live,” she says, even in their cloistered world.
But family safety is a consideration. As the Trumps are discussing security around a motorcade at the inauguration parade, Mrs. Trump says her son would not get out of the car — his choice. When the public festivities are ultimately moved indoors because of extreme cold, she confesses that she feels relieved. “Being in a more secure, enclosed space brought a certain peace of mind.”
She Leaves No Room for Gray
The first lady’s graphic palette — “very symmetrical, right angles, black and white,” as her closest adviser, Marc Beckman, recently described it — is all over the screen.
From the opening scene, when she strides out of Mar-a-Lago in an alabaster shirtdress and snakeskin pumps to the tune of the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter,” she is frequently shown in crisp white tops, inky bottoms, oversized sunglasses (even indoors) and the shade-producing wide-brimmed hat she wore through most of Inauguration Day, which Mrs. Trump made sure had a razor-sharp flattop. Her image, it is clear, is paramount.
The promotional events for the film also followed her preferred stark color scheme; even the special commemorative popcorn buckets — yours for $12.99 — are a glossy black and white.
Beckman, also a lead producer of the film, said that the styling was part of Mrs. Trump’s plan for a luxury brand. (Given her current address, perhaps she was inspired by a retailer: White House Black Market.)
This Is How She Sees Herself
By all accounts, Mrs. Trump had a great deal of control over the project, including the choice of Mr. Ratner, a filmmaker who hadn’t worked in Hollywood since 2017, when six women accused him of sexual misconduct. (He denied any wrongdoing.)
The vision the film presents of her — acutely focused on style; still grieving her mother; frequently alone — is, then, presumably one she supports. The documentary ends with a long pre-credits list of Mrs. Trump’s accomplishments, none of which are actually shown in action.
If it doesn’t illuminate who she is, it does tell us how she wants to be seen.
Melena Ryzik is a roving culture reporter at The Times, covering the personalities, projects and ideas that drive the creative world.
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