By the end of “Melania,” a glossy, curiously impersonal, outwardly apolitical portrait of Melania Trump, you are no closer to knowing its famous subject than you were at the start, even after many changes of time, place, clothes and towering high heels. The movie arrives amid a flurry of news reports about its hefty price tag and political backdrop. Directed by Brett Ratner and released by Amazon MGM Studios, it was not screened in advance for reviewers.
A former Hollywood hitmaker, Mr. Ratner effectively disappeared from the business and public consciousness after he was accused by six women of sexual misconduct; he denied the accusations. Although he’s best known for his fictional movies — most notably the comic “Rush Hour” trilogy — he has also produced a number of documentaries, including several film-themed ones. “Melania” is the first movie that Mr. Ratner has directed in a dozen years, and he’s approached it like a big, starry show. You can see the money onscreen, and not just in its gilded settings. (Amazon bought “Melania” for $40 million; Mr. Ratner and Mrs. Trump are among the producers.)
The movie is, in effect, a very circumscribed and carefully stage-managed chronicle of Mrs. Trump’s day-to-day life during the 20 exceedingly busy days leading up to President Trump’s 2025 inauguration. Narrated by the first lady, the movie opens with a close-up of her shod feet — the Rolling Stones classic “Gimme Shelter” revs up — a vantage point that Mr. Ratner repeats enough times that it’s hard not to wonder if he doesn’t have a foot fetish. The heels look great if uncomfortable, and the same is often true of her. As she is in many scenes, she’s on the move, en route to the airport and eventually the White House, a journey that’s filled with a lot of planning, minders and logistics.
Much of the movie’s early sections focus on preparations for her husband’s second-term inauguration. Although these arrangements involve other people, Mrs. Trump frequently reminds us that she’s finally the one who’s responsible, referring to “my vision.” High in Trump Tower, for instance, she meets with the team creating her wardrobe for the inauguration, modeling different clothes in front of large picture windows overlooking New York. As the camera crew attentively hovers — Dante Spinotti is one of the three credited directors of photography — the French American designer Hervé Pierre and his team do the same.
Some of this is undeniably watchable simply because of who and what she is, but the scenes of Pierre et al fussing as Mrs. Trump models soon grow tedious. More striking, though, is her fastidious attention to detail when it comes to how she appears. Her gaze never looks more intensely focused than when she’s posing before a mirror, checking all the angles with near-clinical detachment. Mrs. Trump, who was born in the former Yugoslavia, started working as a professional model when she was a teenager. She retains a ramrod posture and a catwalk stride, and as the movie continues, what seems like an almost burdensome self-consciousness.
At one point early on, she gets on the phone with her husband (“Hi, honey,” he says), whom she calls Mr. President. He pops up now and again in person, especially closer to the inauguration. Mr. Ratner often shows them holding hands, images that come off as pointed rebukes to rumors about their marriage. Aside from their son, Barron, and her father, Viktor Knavs, other family members are largely out of this picture. They show up nearer to the inauguration, basically like so many extras. As the days pass amid more meetings, more car rides, more stopovers and music — “Billie Jean,” Bach, a Jonny Greenwood song from the Paul Thomas Anderson drama “Phantom Thread” — Mrs. Trump keeps on walking, head unbowed.
For the most part and despite Mrs. Trump’s references to her initiatives, the outside world is very, very distant here. At one point, she meets with Aviva Siegel, a former Hamas hostage; at another, she drops by St. Patrick’s Cathedral and receives a blessing. She also watches television news reports about the fires that are ravaging parts of Los Angeles County in January 2025, her eyes glassy as she regards the screen. The most revealing moment comes late in the movie when, going over plans for the inauguration with her husband and some aides, she asks about security. She also mentions that Barron won’t get out of the car, which seems reasonable given the assassination attempt on his father’s life during the campaign.
This scene briefly pierces the movie’s highly polished veneer, giving you a sense of the person behind the sunglasses. Yet while Mr. Ratner occasionally manages to get Mrs. Trump to smile, and even laugh, she rarely drops her Sphinxlike deadpan. Her long hair cascades around her shoulders, but neither her mane nor her composure ever looks remotely mussed. It must be exhausting. (Her voice tends to be more emotionally expressive, particularly when she speaks about her late mother.) Much like the dress that Mr. Pierre designed for her — a white number whose bold black zigzag obscures all of its seams — Mrs. Trump seems exceptionally good at keeping hidden how everything, her marriage and family included, fits together.
Melania Rated PG. Running time: 1 hour 44 minutes. In theaters.
Manohla Dargis is the chief film critic for The Times.
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