Important Message Gets Undermined by Its Delivery

Read Time:5 Minute, 29 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
The Invisible Doctrine: The Secret History of Neoliberalism (& How It Came to Control Your Life)
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Genre: Documentary
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 15m
Director(s): Peter Hutchison, Lucas Sabean
Where to Watch: now available on VOD and digital

RAVING REVIEW: What starts as a promising exposé of a globally entrenched economic ideology stumbles not because it lacks substance, but because it struggles with how that substance is delivered. THE INVISIBLE DOCTRINE: THE SECRET HISTORY OF NEOLIBERALISM outlines how a complex political and economic belief system took over a century and continues shaping everything from public policy to personal identity. At its core, the film raises critical questions about power, perception, and collective agency. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging contradiction at the heart of its visual presentation—a contradiction that ultimately undercuts its strongest arguments.

Guided by George Monbiot’s narration, the documentary outlines how neoliberal thought shifted from obscure philosophical musings to a dominant worldview that prizes privatization, deregulation, and profit over community and democracy. The ideological shift is tracked, linking to present-day issues like climate disaster, economic inequality, and political disengagement. Monbiot’s delivery does a solid job guiding viewers through this transformation without resorting to condescension. The script avoids academic jargon and instead frames the information with real-world relevance. Here, the film shows promise—it’s informative without being overwhelming, direct without being overly simplistic.

However, the visual choices parallel to this narration unravel the momentum when the message begins to land. Rather than relying on grounded documentary techniques or traditional cinematic storytelling, the filmmakers opt for an aesthetic rooted almost entirely in AI-generated imagery. At first, this feels like an artistic risk, a new way to visualize abstract themes. But as the runtime progresses, it becomes a distraction—a jarring contrast between content and form. Nearly every visual scene is processed through AI, and the repetition wears thin fast. It’s hard not to wonder how much stronger the message would have been if the filmmakers had trusted their audience enough to forgo the digital mess they presented.

The irony, of course, is hard to ignore. A documentary that critiques capitalism’s automation of life and the loss of humanity through optimization decides to outsource its storytelling to a machine. The environmental footprint of AI generation isn’t addressed, nor is the fact that AI art itself is a product of the same neoliberal logic the film condemns, emphasizing speed, cost-cutting, and spectacle over authenticity. It’s not just a misstep; it’s a contradiction that feels like it belongs in the film’s argument, not in its execution. If the goal is to warn us about how automation and dehumanization are reshaping our world, then leaning on the same tools being critiqued seems like a cinematic foulball.

That said, the informational structure does help maintain a sense of cohesion. The film covers a wide sweep of history in just over an hour. While that leaves little room for nuance, it manages to tie together the emergence of neoliberal thought with its impact on modern society. The structure feels like a streamlined lecture rather than an exploration, which has advantages and drawbacks. It keeps the pace brisk and focused, but it also means viewers who aren’t already familiar with the subject may find themselves grasping at concepts without enough time to digest them fully.

There’s also a missed opportunity when it comes to human stories. The film presents ideology as abstract and systemic, but rarely as lived in. Hearing directly from people who have experienced the effects of neoliberal policies—through housing displacement, wage suppression, or community collapse—could have grounded the theory in emotion. Instead, the film sticks to its thesis like a lecture, limiting its emotional depth.

The final act shifts away from analysis and toward imagination, proposing that the path forward lies in reclaiming our sense of collective purpose. Monbiot talks about cooperation, mutual aid, and civic participation as tools to rebuild what neoliberalism has eroded. That message hits home, not because it’s new, but because it reminds viewers that the antidote to isolation isn’t revolution alone—it’s community. It’s a powerful call that works best when stripped of the film’s more performative gestures.

The documentary does well in highlighting how ideology embeds itself into everyday life—how it becomes invisible, not because it’s hidden but because it’s so pervasive. The film’s effort to bring that into focus is commendable, even if the delivery sometimes clouds the message. It encourages viewers to look at the world around them with more scrutiny and to question what they’ve been told is just the way things are. In that regard, it succeeds, whereas many similar projects falter.

There’s no question the film has something important to say. However, outsourcing its visuals to artificial intelligence sends a mixed message that undermines its credibility. Viewers may walk away remembering the concept, but they’ll also likely remember the awkwardness of watching a call for humanity filtered through lifeless digital imagery. And that’s the frustrating part—it didn’t need to be that way.

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[photo courtesy of EAT THE MOON FILMS, JOURNEYMAN PICTURES, MEDIA EDUCATION FOUNDATION]

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