The Art of Forgetting: Why 'Tony' Succeeds Where Biopics Often Fail
There’s something refreshingly bold about a biopic that doesn’t feel the need to worship its subject. Tony, the new A24 film loosely inspired by Anthony Bourdain’s early life, is a prime example. Personally, I think this is where so many biographical films stumble—they’re too busy canonizing their subjects to let them breathe as flawed, unformed humans. Tony avoids this trap entirely, and it’s all the better for it.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film sidesteps the usual biopic clichés. Instead of a reverent tribute to Bourdain’s genius, we get a coming-of-age story about a young man who’s equal parts ambitious and clueless. Dominic Sessa’s portrayal of Tony Bourdain is unapologetically unlikable—cocky, self-absorbed, and more interested in appearing like a writer than actually writing. Yet, there’s an empathy to it, a raw honesty that feels far more authentic than the sanitized versions of famous figures we’re used to seeing on screen.
In my opinion, this is where Tony shines brightest. It doesn’t try to explain Bourdain’s eventual success or justify his flaws. Instead, it simply shows us a young man flailing through life, making mistakes, and stumbling into the world of kitchens almost by accident. The film’s refusal to telegraph Bourdain’s future greatness is a bold choice, one that allows the audience to see him as a person, not a legend-in-waiting.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s treatment of Tony’s relationship with Nancy (Emilia Jones). It’s bittersweet and, frankly, a little uncomfortable. Nancy is drawn to Tony’s charm but quickly sees through his bluster. Yet, the film doesn’t romanticize their connection. Instead, it acknowledges that Nancy is ultimately a footnote in Tony’s story—a detail that I find especially interesting because it subverts the typical biopic trope of the muse who changes the protagonist’s life. Here, Nancy is her own person, and her eventual departure feels both realistic and poignant.
What this really suggests is that Tony is less about Anthony Bourdain and more about the universal experience of growing up. The kitchen, with its chaos and camaraderie, becomes a metaphor for life itself. Antonio Banderas’s character, a composite of various figures from Bourdain’s memoir, serves as a mentor figure, but even he feels more like a symbol than a real person. Banderas’s performance is understated yet magnetic, grounding the film without overshadowing Sessa’s central role.
From my perspective, the film’s greatest strength is its willingness to embrace ambiguity. Tony’s journey isn’t a linear rise to greatness; it’s a messy, meandering path filled with missteps and small revelations. The kitchen isn’t portrayed as a place of culinary enlightenment but as a refuge for misfits and dreamers. The film doesn’t shy away from the darker aspects of kitchen culture—the drugs, the ego, the grind—but it also captures its allure, the sense of belonging that Tony finds there.
What many people don’t realize is that biopics often fail because they try to condense a life into a neat narrative arc. Tony resists this urge, opting instead for a snapshot of a moment in time. It’s not about where Tony ends up; it’s about who he is right now. This approach feels far more honest, more human.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s title itself is a statement. By calling it Tony instead of Kitchen Confidential or Anthony Bourdain, the filmmakers are signaling their intent to focus on the man, not the myth. This raises a deeper question: Do we need biopics to explain greatness, or can they simply show us the messy, unfiltered lives of the people who become great?
In a world obsessed with origin stories and hero worship, Tony dares to be unremarkable—and that’s precisely what makes it remarkable. It’s a film that trusts its audience to find meaning in the small moments, the quiet realizations, and the flawed humanity of its protagonist. Personally, I think that’s a rare and beautiful thing.
Final Thought: Sometimes, the best way to honor a life is to forget about its legacy and focus on the chaos, the uncertainty, and the beauty of becoming. Tony does just that, and in doing so, it becomes more than a biopic—it becomes a reflection on what it means to grow up, to find your place, and to embrace the messiness of it all.
