‘Misty Green’ Review: Chris Rock’s Hollywood Satire Has Nothing but Contempt for Its Leading Lady
Chris Rock found lightning in a bottle with 2014’s Top Five, which I have fond memories of. However, I experienced his misogynoir in real time in his works prior. Rock’s films, such as I Think I Love My Wife and the Jeff Stilson-directed doc Good Hair, illustrated his peculiar relationship with Black women, particularly in their portrayal, while simultaneously striving to capture a Woody Allen-esque sensibility for Black folk in his character dramedies.
Following up on the best directorial effort of his career, Rock relapses into his most insufferable instincts in Misty Green.
MPA Rating: R
Runtime: 1 Hour and 43 Minutes (103 minutes)
Language: English
Production Companies: A24
Distributor: A24
Director: Chris Rock
Screenwriter: Chris Rock
Cast: Rosalind Eleazar, Chris Rock, Adam Driver, Daniel Kaluuya, Anna Kendrick, Topher Grace, Anthony Anderson, Kelli Garner, Amy Landecker, Rich Sommer
U.S Release Date: October 9, 2026
The film follows Misty Green (Rosalind Eleazar), a washed‑up yet confident Emmy‑winning actress from the fictional 2009 ABC series Red Hot. She lives in her late lover’s Santa Monica condo while financially supporting her bipolar brother Jay (Daniel Kaluuya). Her lover’s widow (Amy Landecker), wanting to sell the property, is surprised to find Misty present upon arrival — on his bed in lingerie and full makeup — and, after recognizing her, gives her seven days to move.
Misty needs quick cash. Her agent, Randy (Topher Grace), lands her an audition, but instead of prepping, she self‑destructs with her sleazy filmmaker situationship, Zach (Adam Driver), who offers her $200K to go to Dubai and prostitute herself to a royal fan of her show. She declines. In an industry where old collaborators and casting directors see her hot‑headedness as a liability and young actresses treat her like she’s ancient, gushing about how their moms loved Red Hot, Misty struggles. Her only solace is her singing gig at the Roosevelt Hotel and hot yoga with her best friend Naomi (Anna Kendrick). She soon reunites with sweet “nice guy” director Jordan (Chris Rock), and he offers her a shot at redemption: a Dreamgirls reboot struggling to find a Black actress/singer for the role of Deena. With a comeback on the table, Misty tries to maintain control while scrambling for enough money to secure a new home.
Eleazar anchors a character study that quickly loses its footing.
(L-R) Chris Rock, Rosalind Eleazar | Credit: Courtesy of A24.
Rosalind Eleazar makes the film watchable. The English actress anchors the film with a confident, headstrong demeanor, conveying the throes of Misty’s unwavering self-destruction. Yet she also grounds it with an alluring charm that rounds out her character’s diva prowess.
Rock establishes a strong foundation for the first twenty minutes, with Eleazar commanding the screen and DP Kira Kelly’s photography capturing the bustling LA culture. Again, this is Rock attempting to have his Allen-inspired prose across a character study (which worked well with Top Five). After showcasing her busy, messy lifestyle, Rock’s potential for nuanced commentary falls apart.
Chris Rock mistakes cruelty for complexity, and Misty pays the price.
(L-R) Rosalind Eleazar, Daniel Kaluuya | Credit: Courtesy of A24.
Rock disregards his titular lead’s humanity, degrading her while supporting a series of aimless subplots. At the expense of helping the viewer understand the psyche and weight of her character, Rock drifts aimlessly, imbuing her orbit with a senseless edginess.
As stacked as the cast may seem, every person in Misty’s orbit, including herself, is penned as an outlandish, quirky, one-note caricature, each more shallow than the last. Naomi has a Black man fetish so bad she can’t stop side-eyeing every brother she sees, even when next to her fiancé. Anthony Anderson portrays a racist police officer who gets a rise out of harassing and assaulting Jay every time he drives. Please note: Rock establishes himself as the sole stabilizer in Misty’s hyperbolic, shallow orbit as the potential love interest who gives Green a second chance at redemption.
Rock neglects every character study potential, including homelessness in Los Angeles and Black men’s mental health, dismissing them as a joke or cruel window dressing. Although Daniel Kaluuya is great in every scene, Jay’s depiction of bipolar disorder is cartoonish. In fact, he acts erratically in a hyperbolic manner, featuring a Chekhov’s gun in the form of a fake spider he carries around and uses to torment everyone.
The movie wants to do many things to Misty Green besides conveying who she is and why we should care. The character actress devolves into self-degradation to get by with little discernible logical explanation. God forbid a script has a narrative or thematic cohesion. Green’s depth doesn’t go beyond the buzz claim “I’m not a nepo baby,” a brief description of how she was neglected by her white mom, and how her brother was favored while their Black dad was absent.
Beyond undermining his lead, the awful script is rooted in a dark seediness fueled by an infuriating fetishism and misogynoir. It depicts young Black women as vapid, attention-hogging shills of little talent. The only white female side character has a Black fetish with a scene dedicated to helping her get an abortion after cheating on her white fiancé with a Black man. The infuriating shallowness becomes increasingly cruel that by the time a plot point involving women beating each other over for Birkin bags in Dubai was enacted, I was vibrating in my seat.
Misty Green needed a Black woman behind the camera.
Rosalind Eleazar Credit: Photo by Merrick Morton. Courtesy of A24.
There’s a good movie embedded somewhere in Misty Green. One that could’ve perhaps seen the struggle of a discarded Black actress, struggling to find a comeback in a ruthless industry that simply isn’t casting as many Black roles as it used to. Combine that with her constant struggle to be her bipolar brother’s keeper, and grappling with the throes of her impulsive identity because of it. In concept, it would be a smart movie, especially given the few Black-women-led films being distributed theatrically nationwide. Hell, Misty Green is a Black woman’s BoJack Horseman. It would’ve prospered if it were helmed by someone who genuinely respected Black women. Or better yet, it should’ve been made by a Black woman.
I couldn’t help but think about how well Marvel’s recently cancelled Wonder Man (Kevin Feige doesn’t care about Black people, fr) did everything this film failed to do. The series tackled the mistreatment of Black performers in the modern Hollywood industry within its superhero realm, with Blackness at the forefront with the flawed failed actor and fleshed out why he’s hotheaded. The Black creatives involved in that show, including Stella Meghie, Tiffany Johnson, and Kira Talise, are voices that would’ve rounded Misty Green as a human being, not a vessel for Rock to project his misogynoir onto.
But alas, Rosalind Eleazar, while showing her might and star power, deserves better than Misty Green. It’s both a horrible showbiz satire with jackshit to say and a spiteful character drama that hates its own main character. It’s proof that no matter how harsh the Hollywood system can be towards Black women, Chris Rock will always find a way to be harsher.
