Warfare

I want to start off by saying GWOT (global war on terrorism) can be seen in a couple different periods of time and I personally fall into the latter having gone to Afghanistan in 2010. The former however was really a depiction of the Wild West with ROE (rules of engagement) and TTPs (tactics techniques and procedures); folks were learning this new environment that didn't exist. Admittedly I'm a little biased because I spent a number of years supporting operators in this community, but watching this movie really hit me. This movie completely understands what we as service members care about and potentially go through in horrible circumstances. The movie throws a middle finger to narrative and just gives you the story as a handful of men experienced that day with no real bias. As far as accuracy I have to say they really hit the nail on the head! Comms saying 0 and not O(the letter), blood sweeps, and taking a knee one someone if you don't have a tourniquet are so fundamental to us, and it's the little details we appreciate for remembrance. This isn't the modern day saving private ryan but it is the theatrical version of generation kill from HBO. If this was your time and conflict go see it.

Warfare isn't a war film. It's war.

Garland and Mendoza strip the genre of everything recognizable: no character arcs, no flashbacks, no patriotic overtures or emotional beats. There are no names to remember. No home to long for. No cinematic scaffolding to hold onto. What's left is the brutal machinery of combat - dry, immediate, procedural.

This is not the psychological descent of Apocalypse Now, nor the trembling humanism of Saving Private Ryan. It's more like being waterboarded with dust, sound, and confusion.

The camera is unflinching - tight, reactive, often handheld but never "shaky-cam" chaos. It moves with the soldiers, but never sentimentalizes them. There's no slow-mo. No meditative framing. Just bodies moving through smoke, clearing rooms, capturing buildings. The lens doesn't find beauty in destruction - it avoids it entirely. The few wide shots we get are just to show how small they are. How futile it all looks from a distance. The sound design is relentless: radios crackling over one another, gunfire echoing through narrow alleyways. There is almost no score, and when music does appear (Low's Dancing and Blood) it's droning, ghostly, anti-heroic. It haunts rather than elevates. The production design is chillingly effective. Everything feels lived-in and long-dead at the same time. You can smell the ash, feel the heat radiating off the concrete. The environments aren't stylized, they're decayed, abandoned, half-real. It feels like the war has already happened, and this is just the residue.

One of the final moments, set to the droning nightmare of Low's Dancing and Blood, shows a blurry portrait of an Iraqi family seconds before their home is destroyed. Not for shock. Not for plot. But because that is war-it happens, and then it's gone, and the image remains, smeared and indistinct.

Civil War framed the ethics of capturing violence. Warfare removes the frame entirely. There is no image here to interpret - just presence. Just event.

It's also one of the most immersive war films I've ever seen, precisely because it refuses to explain itself. The film doesn't care if you're lost. It wants you to be. Questions pile up. None are answered. Context is treated like luxury, one the characters (and audience) don't get.

By the final sequence, you feel exhausted - not thrilled, not moved - just emptied out. And then the film has the audacity to end on one word:

"Why?"

But it doesn't ask it to provoke. It asks it like a ghost would. Like a memory does. It's not a question. It's an echo.

Warfare is not a film you watch. It's something you survive.

9/10.

P. S Having experienced Warfare in Dolby Atmos, I must emphasize how sonically overwhelming the film's opening sequence is - a moment of almost euphoric surrealism, as the soldiers lose themselves in the pulsating rhythm of Call on Me, the bass resonating so powerfully it felt like the theater roof was coming down. It's a scene of unexpected levity and collective joy, rendered with hypnotic energy and tonal audacity. Precisely this striking contrast - between the almost absurd vitality of the prologue and the film's emotionally pulverizing, desolate conclusion - marks one of the boldest and most jarring juxtapositions in recent cinema.

There have been anti-bellicose films since the early days of cinema. You can trace a throughline from All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), to Paths of Glory (1957), and Platoon (1986). As the U. S. has extracted itself from decades-long wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, more reflective films have started to emerge on those conflicts. While we've seen some modern anti-bellicose films like The Hurt Locker (2008), the genre has more often leaned toward propagandistic works such as Lone Survivor (2013), 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi (2016), or 12 Strong (2018). With time and distance, however, a more nuanced perspective is developing-one less interested in glorification or recruitment. We now see stories exploring overlooked aspects, such as the treatment of translators in Guy Ritchie's The Covenant (2023), and more recently, the visceral helplessness felt by soldiers in Warfare (2025).

Warfare attempts to recreate, as faithfully as possible, a harrowing day in 2006 during the Battle of Ramadi, when a platoon of Navy SEALs was pinned down in a building. The platoon includes commander Erik (Will Poulter), head of comms Ray (D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai), sniper Elliot (Cosmo Jarvis), and soldiers Sam (Joseph Quinn) and Macdonald (Michael Gandolfini), among others.

Directed by Alex Garland, following his similarly themed Civil War (2024), and co-directed by Ray Mendoza-one of the real soldiers portrayed in the film (played by Woon-A-Tai)-Warfare adopts a stripped-down, technical approach. There is no soundtrack to steer viewers' emotions, no hand-holding through military jargon, and minimal expository dialogue about the characters or their mission. We're dropped into a scenario where the soldiers are tasked with securing a compound as an observation post, and from there, the situation escalates-their primary objective quickly becoming sheer survival.

With Garland's sharp directorial style and Mendoza's commitment to authenticity, Warfare avoids portraying the U. S. military as a glorified, video-game-like experience. The first act centers on the monotony of war-our characters mostly wait, bored but hyper-aware. When combat finally breaks out, Garland keeps the camera locked inside the house, emphasizing a suffocating sense of claustrophobia. Brief drone thermal images occasionally orient the viewer, but for the most part, the firefight is disorienting and tense. The soldiers fire out blindly, unsure if their shots land, spending most of their time hunkered down. A significant portion of the film focuses on the gruesome injuries sustained and the frantic, desperate efforts of fellow platoon members. Ideology fades quickly, replaced by a primal will to survive.

However, Warfare does fall into a familiar trap of many American war films: it centers the suffering of U. S. soldiers while sidelining the pain of local civilians and collaborators. In the film, the platoon occupies the home of two Iraqi families, who are forcibly confined to a single room and largely ignored. Only in a final lingering shot do we see an acknowledgment of their experience, but by then, they feel like shallow afterthoughts rather than co-victims. Similarly, the local translators embedded with the platoon are given short shrift. Though the film briefly shows them being dismissed, berated, and even used as human shields during an evacuation, this disturbing thread is dropped and never revisited. It's a missed opportunity, especially when contrasted with Guy Ritchie's The Covenant, which centers its narrative around the complex relationships between soldiers and translators. The idea that Warfare is "only about the American soldiers" doesn't excuse this neglect-just a few more scenes could have offered a more balanced and humane perspective.

The cast features an ensemble of rising stars-almost like a who's-who list of "Top 10 Actors to Watch." Poulter, Quinn, and Jarvis shine with charisma despite limited character development. Charles Melton also impresses in a small but commanding role. Some of the other actors, however, feel a bit green: Woon-A-Tai seems out of his depth at times, and Gandolfini's range still feels confined to familiar "wise guy" territory. That said, the film's focus on physical endurance and survivalism means deep character work isn't central, and more instinctual, visceral performances prove effective.

Warfare is a compelling anti-bellicose film, grounded in technical precision and immersive tension. Its dedication to realism and its refusal to glamorize war are commendable. While the marginalization of civilians and translators remains a significant flaw, the film succeeds in offering a grim, unflinching look at modern combat-a soldier-centric, rightfully distressing experience.

It starts light. Almost like a joke.

Young soldiers, full of swagger, testosterone, and nervous energy, dropped into a foreign neighborhood with gear, guns, and no real plan. You think you know where it's going.

Then it tightens. Hard.

Alex Garland's Warfare isn't a typical war film. It's a mirror. A slow-burn portrait of occupation - show up, seize control, provoke chaos, and leave. It doesn't lecture. It just sits with you. Uncomfortably.

They're foreign soldiers holding civilians in their own home at gunpoint, surrounded by a community trying to push them out. Whether the locals are rescuers or rebels depends on your perspective - and Garland refuses to give you one.

There's no soaring score. No rousing speeches. Just dust, dread, a spectacle of force and the weight of presence. It's not about winning.

It's a loud reflection of the post-9/11 playbook: arrive with guns, destabilize everything, leave behind blood and rubble. Sound familiar?

I despise films that glorify war. The swelling strings, the slow-motion salutes, the valour-for-the-sake-of-it nonsense - it's tired and tone-deaf. That's why 'Warfare', the latest and arguably best A24 film I've seen in a long while, floored me. This isn't some patriotic puff piece. It's raw, visceral, and deeply uncomfortable in all the right ways.

Co-directed by Alex Garland and Ray Mendoza (a former Navy SEAL whose real-life experience forms the backbone of the story), 'Warfare' drops you headfirst into the chaos of a mission gone sideways in 2006 Ramadi (Iraq). There's no time for character backstories or emotional flashbacks. You're in the dirt with these men, hearing the crack of gunfire, the ragged breathing, the frantic comms - every heartbeat of the film is felt in your chest. Real war, as this film so powerfully reminds us, isn't medals and glory. It's blood, guts, and a harrowing sense of hopelessness.

The cast - most notably D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, Cosmo Jarvis, and Will Poulter - bring a haunting realism to their roles. You don't watch them; you endure alongside them. And that's what elevates 'Warfare' into something more than cinema. It's an experience. A brutal, brilliantly made, and emotionally devastating experience.

Any loss of life in war is a failure - of diplomacy, of leadership, of humanity. This film doesn't flinch from that truth. It holds your gaze and says: look at what we do to each other.

A masterpiece. Uncompromising and unforgettable. If you can, see it in a theatre. The sound design alone is worth the ticket - each echoing explosion and muffled breath immerses you deeper into the dread-soaked trenches of reality. 'Warfare' doesn't just show war. It makes you feel every awful second of it.