“The amount of money that gets spent on making a movie is completely mind-boggling to me,” Johnson told IndieWire. The film’s modest $5 million budget shows in its choices — the heavy use of handheld, the restrained production design — yet it’s remarkable how much quality they squeezed from so little. It’s a testament to a sharp story.

It’s worth noting: movies dramatize reality. BlackBerry (2023, dir. Matthew Johnson) is no exception. Events are exaggerated and timelines are condensed. Still, much of what happens did happen — just not exactly as shown.

BlackBerry was born in Waterloo, Ontario, from the minds of Mike Lazaridis (Jay Baruchel) and his best friend Douglas Fregin (Matthew Johnson), two engineers who genuinely care about their craft and creating the best product possible. Under the name Research in Motion, they set out to revolutionize communication with the world’s first smartphone. Their idea? Communication over commuting — people able to connect instantly, no matter where they were.

The film opens in 1996, drenched in ‘90s nostalgia that all lands beautifully. Mike and Doug pitch their idea to Jim Balsillie (Glenn Howerton), then a salesman at a construction services company. The meeting was a disaster — the presentation was mocked, the product name “PocketLink” was ridiculed.

Shortly after, Balsillie is fired. But instead of retreating, he leverages his business acumen and joins Research in Motion as co-CEO. Instantly, there’s friction at the top. Mike brings him in; Doug hates his cutthroat style. Jim’s a shark — the kind who would make you work through movie night, a sacred company tradition. But, shark or not, he saves them early on. Even if it means crossing lines.

He literally mortgages his house to keep the company afloat. The film lingers on this — his name uttered at the bank counter, a signal of pride and risk colliding. Howerton shines here, his performance tightening as the stakes climb.

The company’s survival sets up their first big test: a meeting with Verizon, one of the few major networks at the time. Their problem? Getting all devices on a single network. Ten was the cap — until Mike calmly fixed it, debuting the prototype with the line, “Use your thumbs.” Fittingly, the name “BlackBerry” supposedly came from a berry stain on his shirt just before the meeting.

From there, Research in Motion explodes. Their innovation — routing messages through data plans instead of per-text SMS — sidesteps carrier fees and allows unlimited, untraceable messaging. Free texting before free texting existed. Cue the collective “F*** yes.”

But success draws predators. Carl Yankowski of Palm, Inc. (yes, that Palm Pilot) threatens a hostile takeover — when a company tries to acquire another by going straight to shareholders, bypassing management.

BlackBerry’s counter? Mass expansion. They throw money at top engineers across North America, sometimes skirting legality to move fast. Jim’s methods grow shadier, his reputation more divisive. It’s the beginning of the end.

They overproduce, flooding Verizon’s network until it crashes. Yet, in classic underdog fashion, they fix it — quadrupling capacity from 500k to 2 million devices. Half already sold. Crisis averted. For now.

The cracks deepen internally. Doug’s idealistic culture — late-night movie marathons, shared excitement for innovation — collapses under corporate weight. Movie night is canceled. Passion gives way to pressure.

Still, they march on — making harder choices each step — until 2007: the debut of the iPhone.

What rattles Mike isn’t the product itself, but Steve Jobs sharing the stage with AT&T’s CEO. His competition isn’t just a better phone — it’s an empire. BlackBerry’s response? A trackpad. Then backpedal.

Meanwhile, Balsillie’s off chasing his own obsession: buying an NHL team and moving it to Canada. The distraction costs him dearly. The NHL laughs him out of the room. His exit is bitter, capped by a warning from “Waterloo, where the vampires hang out.”

The industry shifts. Apple dominates. Mike’s forced to make promises he can’t keep — to Verizon, to his team, to himself. The SEC eventually comes knocking.

Their downfall stems from backdating stock options — offering recruits stock valued retroactively at its lowest point, guaranteeing profit. Great incentive. Serious crime.

When the SEC corners Mike, Jim’s off making one last desperate pitch to AT&T. But the game’s changed. Minutes are dead; data is king. Jim returns, seeking a new plan. Mike, hardened now, makes the ultimate shark move — turning Jim in.

The next morning, Mike parks in his new spot. The sign reads: Mike Lazaridis, CEO. The camera lingers — one last name, one last decision.

Then comes the final blow: moving production to China. Mike discovers the new phones — supposed iPhone killers — lack the soul of the originals. Built by strangers, they’re lifeless. In a haunting sequence, he opens box after box, trying to fix what’s already lost. But it’s too late.

The phones flop. By 2012, Mike resigns.

At its peak, BlackBerry owned 45% of the mobile market. Today, 0%.

The credits roll to The Kinks’ “Waterloo Sunset.” One last nod to the ‘90s — and to the fall of a Canadian dream.

The film closes on a poignant idea: BlackBerry will forever be remembered as “the phone everyone had before they had an iPhone.” But it argues we should remember it differently — as a product made by people who cared, who built something great before the work stopped being fun. The tragedy isn’t failure; it’s forgetting why they started.

When innovation turns into obligation, the magic dies. BlackBerry reminds us that the hardest decisions are often best made in moderation.