The world’s first trillionaire gets an exhausting, though not exhaustive profile in ‘Musk’

Is there anything more worrisome about today’s tech titans than the fact that they present as abundance-minded optimists but in actuality are gluttonous, scorched-earth pessimists? Documentarian Alex Gibney is no stranger to dissections of corrupting power — from his feature dives into Enron, Elizabeth Holmes and Scientology. He frames his deeply researched four-hour psych eval “Musk” as the reality check we all need when the world’s richest, most cult-powerful human keeps pushing migration to Mars. Musk might need Earth to become uninhabitable to justify the trip.

Musk’s Tesla cars, SpaceX rockets and Starlink satellites have inspired awe while his “dark MAGA” politics, limited knowledge and petty ego have made him plutocrat Enemy No. 1. Other behavior-coded prisms through which to view Musk — an immigrant whom American fascists love — include his oft-stated belief that we’re living in a simulation. He also loves video games. Gibney sporadically complements his archival materials and many interviews with the metaphoric imagery of player-one gaming: toggling between identities, first-person shooter modes. He also shrewdly compares Musk to the protagonist of a 1930s film adapted from an H.G. Wells story, “The Man Who Could Work Miracles,” about an ordinary guy bestowed with world-altering powers by the gods. (It doesn’t go well.)

There’s even a computer-generated Elon, a by-product of Gibney not securing a face-to-face interview with the tycoon himself. Avatar Musk, meant to appear like AI slop and spouting commentary culled from the totality of his recorded interviews, is pretty gimmicky. But its strangeness also seems appropriate, considering the epic oddity of the South African’s ascension from mistrusted Silicon Valley wannabe to ever-confident cheerleader for space dreams and electric vehicles. Musk is savvy at securing investment, whether his shiny pronouncements about the future prove real or not. It’s why Gibney’s surest, most clear-eyed take is that Musk is less a visionary than a self-promoter — selling Autopilot in Teslas when it led to deaths, being recklessly bullish about AI — and the greatest artificial stock-pumper of all time.

Musk’s forthright, crusty dad Errol sounds almost proud that something was bullied out of his son, but the movie avoids filling out that traumatic childhood. More heartbreaking is ex-wife Justine Musk’s well-articulated experience of Musk’s cruel domestic side — especially where trans daughter Jenna was involved. Ashley St. Clair, the right-wing influencer and one of Musk’s many baby mamas, chillingly completes the portrait of someone who sees fatherhood as an NDA arrangement to help facilitate a genetic army. She watched him up close as he cozied up to Donald Trump, grew his online fandom after taking over Twitter and consolidated his data power. St. Clair simply calls him a “nuke,” one that might readily self-detonate at the slightest bruising of his self-image.

With a built-in intermission dividing his rise (SpaceX, Tesla) from his rightward shift (Twitter, Trump), it’s wild how much the documentary’s second half makes you long for the garden variety tech-bro obnoxiousness of the first. The running time seems a lot for one’s tolerance of a supervillain story and not enough, since the story of DOGE, a venal propaganda folly with a human cost, really needs its own separate feature.

Even a four-hour “Musk” can’t keep up with the unelected trillionaire’s financially self-serving governmental meddling, considering the recent news of his involvement in a Department of Defense AI warfare study. Maybe his conning can be curtailed someday, but the thought there’d ever be enough distracting chaos for a similarly lengthy follow-up is almost too much to bear.

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