Jacinda Ardern’s new documentary is a bold, unapologetic attempt to control her legacy—but is it an honest portrayal or a masterclass in self-promotion? Here’s the part most people miss: while it’s billed as an ‘intimate portrait’ of political power, it often feels more like an invasion of privacy, with much of the footage shot by her partner, Clarke Gayford. The result? A bizarre blend of raw, behind-the-scenes moments and carefully curated storytelling that leaves you wondering: Are we seeing the real Ardern, or the version she wants us to remember?
The film kicks off with a whirlwind trip back to 2017, when Ardern, then 37, was thrust into the Labour leadership and hailed as New Zealand’s savior. But here’s where it gets controversial: the documentary treats this moment with almost religious reverence, glossing over the less-than-stellar finale of her tenure. It’s a narrative her fans cling to, but critics might call it a strategic omission. Let’s be honest—the disastrous end to her premiership is coming, and the film’s reluctance to address it head-on feels like a missed opportunity.
There are undeniably powerful scenes. The raw footage of her pregnancy and early motherhood is so intimate it’s almost uncomfortable. Watching her juggle breastfeeding with cabinet papers is a gut-wrenching reminder of the impossible demands placed on working mothers. When she admits to giving up breastfeeding due to the relentless demands of leadership, it’s hard not to feel for her. Yet, you can’t help but question: Is this genuine vulnerability, or a calculated move to humanize her image?
The documentary’s portrayal of her decline is where it truly stumbles. The Covid era, with its polarizing lockdowns, is framed as a tragic misunderstanding between a saintly leader and an ungrateful public. Here’s the real question: Why does the film avoid addressing the widespread backlash? The protests, plummeting polls, and growing skepticism among New Zealanders are brushed aside, leaving the narrative feeling one-sided. It’s less of a critical examination and more of a PR campaign—a glossy defense of her legacy.
By the time her resignation in January 2023 rolls around, the film has fully embraced the idea that New Zealand didn’t deserve her. It’s a narrative that will resonate with admirers but likely infuriate critics. And this is the part most people miss: the documentary isn’t about unmasking Ardern; it’s about cementing her legend, down to the last home video. It’s compelling, sure, but for all the wrong reasons. Admirers will be inspired, critics will be frustrated, and the rest of us will be left wondering: Did the world really need two hours of Jacinda’s curated reality?
Now playing in cinemas—but don’t say we didn’t warn you. What do you think? Is this documentary a genuine reflection of Ardern’s leadership, or a shameless act of self-promotion? Let us know in the comments!
