All the President’s Men: has cinema changed or has the world? 

Over the last three to five years, we’ve seen a surge in films focusing on clear social commentary. In 2025 alone we’ve had Eddington, Bugonia, The Long Walk, Running Man, and more. 

What ties them together is a familiar theme: a protagonist pushing back against an oppressive system. It’s a formula that has worked across both Hollywood and indie filmmaking for half a century. And it’s not new. The idea of battling “the system” traces right back to the 60s and mid-70s. This period is defined by the Vietnam War, the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and JFK, the moon landing, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the rise of the Beatles, Motown’s golden age, and the lingering aftermath of Watergate. 

1961–1975 is arguably the most important period in modern history, and its cultural impact is still shaping the world we live in. 

For me, the film that captures the mixture of hope, paranoia, and justice from that era is All the President’s Men. 

The film is a political thriller centred on two journalists investigating the Watergate scandal, which ultimately pushed President Richard Nixon to resign in 1974. Starring Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman – looking effortlessly stylish in the kind of outfits you’d still spot men wearing today in East London – the film stormed the 1977 Oscars with four wins and became the benchmark for the investigative drama. The closest modern counterpart is 2015’s Spotlight. 

My dad showed me All the President’s Men far too young, telling me it was a lesson in having a “moral code” and in always “following the money.” Those ideas stuck with me, though he said the same about The Godfather, so I took it with a pinch of salt. 

Still, when I rewatched All the President’s Men recently, I kept thinking about those lessons and how strangely relevant they feel in November 2025. Yet it feels almost alien looking at the movies we get today, even though we’re still wrestling with the same theme: fighting for the truth. 

We can look at Eddington and Bugonia. Their protagonists are morally blurred and shaped by digital media, ideological bubbles, and algorithmic noise. Whereas in All the President’s Men, Redford and Hoffman are guided by principle and a clear sense of responsibility. Their pursuit of truth is their compass. Then you look at our modern equivalents they’re overwhelmed, angry, confused, and pulled apart by conspiracies and misinformation. Their frustration never reaches the people in power – the ones generating inequality, poverty, and corruption. Instead, it gets redirected toward easier enemies.  

In many ways, Eddington is the perfect mirror of 2025, despite being a flawed film. It shows a world where truth bends to political identity, where everyone speaks but no one listens. It alienated some viewers because it refuses to pick a side, but that’s exactly the point. Today, we’re all fighting for our truth rather than the truth. 

This theme becomes even clearer when you look at The Long Walk and The Running Man, two 2025 releases based on Stephen King’s dystopian novels from the 1970s, written in the shadow of the Watergate-era of distrust. Both stories depict oppressive societies where the lower classes are forced into violent spectacles and must fight upward just to survive, let alone create change. And, almost comically, The Running Man is set in the year 2025. King imagined a future born from the paranoia and collapse of his own time and, somehow, he’s got it spot on. 

So has cinema changed, or has the world changed? 

Simply, the world has changed, and our modern filmmakers are responding to that shift, just as Kubrick responded to his era in Dr. Strangelove.  

As Pope Leo XIV recently put it, “Good cinema doesn’t exploit pain; it recognises it and explores it.” 

Whether we like it or not, some of the most talked-about films in 2025 aren’t offering hope, they’re simply holding up a mirror to our time. 

Think about it: what’s the most recent modern equivalent to Watergate? 
Within the last month, Epstein files named the sitting President of the United States. You could easily argue (and win) that Trump has caused more lasting damage than Nixon, yet he remains in power, stronger than ever. 

That’s because truth has become subjective. 

It feels bleak and modern cinema reflects that. 

So, we’re left with a choice. 

We can lean into the hopelessness of Eddington or Bugonia, films that present how truly f***ed we are and that there is no way out. Or we can look back at All the President’s Men and remember that a common moral ground once existed and possibly could again. 

I know what I choose, but what do you choose? 

I don’t know how we return to a shared sense of truth, but I do know this: the more we talk, the better. That’s why films – new and old – are vital. They force us to create parallels to our own life, to ask questions, to have discussions, to be open, and most importantly to feel.