Warfare

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.

As the invaded family ask of the US military. Why? Why did you do this? What was all this about? And it's a good question and not a criticism of the film in anyway. Maybe that was part of the point of it all. Although the congratulatory credits footage confuses that angle as we get to meet the real perpetrators of the events of the film.

I was on board with the who futility of war, the meaningless nature of the soldiers taking over a random house, smashing down walls and taking captive the innocent families that live there and then having to defend themselves from attacks caused by the act of taking over a random house, hey how about just don't take the house, right?

That seemed like a poignant message and if left at that then we've got ourselves a film with a solid message, but then we get the actual soldiers taking photos on the set with the actors and smiling, and the message about thanks for always answering the call" and well maybe we're all just imagining there's a lesson learned here at all. You can't have a sobering film on the brutal insensitivity of the US Military and the pointless damage it inflicts on the innocent around the world and then go all hugs for the military bros as the credits roll, can you? It was a confusing message.

It was a well made movie, fantastic sound design. I just don't know what I'm supposed to take away from it, and maybe that's part of the point, the world is full of contradictions.

But I really did feel embarrassed and ashamed for the cruelty inflicted on the families we hardly saw in this film.

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.

For someone like me, who has even the faintest and smallest experience of war, watching war films is the scariest thing I can imagine-especially when the story is set in the Middle East.

Warfare felt so real with its visuals, sounds, and atmosphere that it was as if I was right there in the middle of the battlefield.

On the giant cinema screen, every explosion hit me like a punch in the face, and the loud Dolby sound shook my heartbeat with every gunshot and scream.

From the first third of the film to the very end, I sat on my seat with my knees pulled up-frozen, motionless-like I was truly trapped inside those scenes.

When the film ended, it took me a few minutes to pull myself together. It felt like the war was still going on in my head.

Damn every war-seeker-of any kind, for any reason, under any pretext, with any intention.

A masterclass in tension and sound design. A visceral, gut wrenching, unrelenting war film experience.

This film absolutely deserves an Oscar nod for its sound design, my ears are still ringing, but in the best way possible. It's not for the faint of heart. Rarely has the raw horror of war been depicted with such intensity; I haven't felt this shaken since Saving Private Ryan. The theatrical experience is essential, this soundscape demands a massive screen. The gunfire alone rivals Heat in realism and impact.

Those expecting a conventional narrative should adjust their expectations. This isn't a traditional hero's journey, it's an immersive, boots-on-the-ground depiction of a team navigating a chaotic operation where, even when everything is done right, everything can still go catastrophically wrong.

Watching this, my respect for our military deepened tenfold. The courage it takes to step into such situations is beyond comprehension, and the professionalism of the operators is portrayed with remarkable authenticity. This film didn't just entertain, it inspired me to be a better leader, a better friend.

This is the film I wanted Civil War to be, and I wouldn't be surprised if Alex Garland felt the same. It offered a deeper understanding of PTSD and the brotherhood forged in combat. The emotional and psychological toll is palpable, yet never overplayed.

This is not just a film, it's an experience. I'm already planning to see it again in theaters. I'm genuinely curious if my heart rate ever dropped below 130 bpm. As a filmmaker who dreams of tackling a military story one day, I found this both intimidating and inspiring.

So. Well. Done.