There is something inherently absurd about making a globe trotting political thriller out of a puzzle game. That absurdity is precisely what makes Tetris such a delirious surprise. What begins as a story about licensing agreements and handheld consoles gradually mutates into a slick Cold War chess match where contracts are weapons and conference rooms feel like battlegrounds. I had one hell of a good time with this movie.
Every review I have read seems to circle the same complaint, that the film takes itself too seriously. I find that reaction strange. The marketing promised a biopic thriller. The synopsis literally references a dangerous web of lies and corruption behind the Iron Curtain. That is heavy material. Did people expect a winking parody or a broad comedy about falling blocks? I understand the instinct, but the story behind Tetris is genuinely wild. Treating it with weight feels less like self importance and more like commitment.
And yet here is the magic trick. It takes itself so damn seriously but also…doesn’t, transforming mundane bureaucracy into a suspenseful, charming thrill ride in the tradition of Moneyball and The Big Short. It is not as good as those movies, but it is so much fun, and the score will be a 2023 favorite. The film understands that paperwork can be cinematic if the stakes are clear and the characters are desperate enough.
At the center of it all is Taron Egerton as Henk Rogers, and I am ready to say it plainly. Taron is quickly becoming one of my favorite working actors. He commits fully, whether he is playing Elton John or a morally conflicted inmate in Black Bird. Here, he brings a nervy, almost frantic energy to Henk. The performance is disarming and relentless. Even when he is speaking in an American accent that feels just slightly heightened, the charisma cuts through.
Tetris is Taron Egerton in a bathtub and a porn stache explaining corporate policy with The Final Countdown by Europe blaring in the background. If that sounds like a lot, it is. I loved it.
The film chronicles Henk’s attempt to secure the handheld rights to Tetris at the tail end of the Cold War, navigating Soviet bureaucracy, British media tycoons, and Japanese executives who all want a piece of what they sense could be the future. The script occasionally feels repetitive, cycling through meetings and double crosses, but director Jon S. Baird keeps the pacing brisk and the tone heightened enough that the repetition becomes part of the rhythm. The movie treats negotiation like a contact sport.
Visually, the film leans hard into late nineteen eighties nostalgia. Pixelated transitions, eight bit renderings of cityscapes, and playful on screen graphics could have felt gimmicky. Instead, they give the movie a distinct identity. The aesthetic is not subtle, but it is cohesive. Baird commits to the vibe completely, and I respect that. The style edges toward parody at times, almost self aware in its exuberance, yet it never tips into outright mockery.
The score, composed by Lorne Balfe, deserves special mention. Balfe, a former collaborator of Hans Zimmer, blends the iconic Tetris theme with pulsing synths that would feel at home in any prestige thriller. The music does much of the heavy lifting, turning boardroom showdowns into edge of your seat sequences. I was far more invested in licensing terminology than I ever expected to be.
Of course, the film indulges in embellishment. Car chases through Moscow streets, looming threats, shadowy figures lurking in corridors. Some will argue that these flourishes undermine the real drama of contract negotiations. There is a case to be made there. Backroom deals can be gripping without added spectacle. But I cannot deny that I was on the edge of my seat. Even when certain turns felt predictable, the propulsion never faltered.
People are going to say it is too pro capitalism but it is really just pro synthesizers and pro happiness. Yes, the film frames the triumph of Tetris in the global marketplace as something heroic. There is a faintly propagandistic sheen to the narrative. Yet it also humanizes its Soviet characters, particularly Alexey Pajitnov, the game’s creator. The bond that forms between him and Henk becomes the emotional core. In a story about ownership and profit, the film wisely grounds itself in friendship and creative passion.
What begins as something procedural evolves into a story about belief. Belief in a product, belief in partnership, belief that a simple idea can transcend political borders. On one side of history, the Soviet Union is nearing collapse. On the other, the world is about to become obsessed with a handheld console and a deceptively simple puzzle game. The juxtaposition is darkly ironic and oddly poetic.
Is it perfect? Not quite. It could have been tighter. Certain antagonists verge on caricature. Some dramatic beats feel engineered rather than organic. But the movie succeeds at the one thing it absolutely needs to do. It makes you care about Tetris.
When the credits rolled, I immediately wanted to read everything about the real events. For me, that is proof the machine works. Tetris may not be the most nuanced historical drama of the year, but as a piece of entertainment, it clicks. All the pieces fall into place. Almost.
Who would have thought the origins of a falling block puzzle could be this dramatic? Seriously, this film slaps.
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