by Chris Feil
At first look, Ben Wheatley’s Free Fire seems like another Tarantino retread, all snarky hyper-violence with a wink that we’ve seen dozens of times - and to some degree it is. But the film isn’t so much the macho wankfest it will be shrugged off as, nor the cornucopia of gun adoration that the marketing promises. Where Free Fire delights, even charms, is by finding its thrills in the shady repartee and double crosses between criminals rather than the bloodshed.
Guns do play the central role in the film’s “deal gone wrong”, but they aren't responsible for what makes things go south...
From the jump, the factions of seller, buyer, and handler alike are quick to hilariously quip and begrudge, or hint at backstabbing to come. The violence comes later than you expect and then doesn’t let up, but this isn’t a film of daring badasses. In the hands of these buffoons, it’s more like an Agatha Christie novel where everyone is a terrible shot. No - we’re talking truly abysmal handling of a firearm.
Wheatley keeps the ensemble at the forefront, for better (Jack Reynor’s affability an asset as the most violently-tinged criminal) and only occasionally worse (the slithering, archly dialected Sam Riley). If only there were more of Brie Larson and Cillian Murphy’s suggestive smolder to give Fire a little more below the waist. Armie Hammer is always at his best when playing sly, and here he’s especially delightful carrying the biggest ego in the room. It helps to have such a charismatic cast when the film works by not alligning our alliances to any one party in this shootout.
While Wheatley’s last film High-Rise underwhelmed with its moroseness and competing tones, Free Fire is at its best when sharply modest and specific. Naturally, a film that mocks male peacocking should be this stylish. Wheatley still delivers one hip package, the cool 70s tunes and colorful costuming by Emma Fryer balancing out the crackling acidity of his and Amy Jump’s screenplay. During the chaos, he keeps it clear for the audience where we are in the space of its grungy warehouse, while finding the humor of the ensemble’s lack of spatial awareness.
By the end of the film, he loses some clarity of what makes the film the wild romp that it is, becoming more like the blood-hungry actioners it will inevitably be compared to. It’s not just the gore, but there’s a certain slickness and tongue-in-cheek tone that goes out the window in a frenzy. But its final touches of understated grimness are what linger, a nice shift in tone when you think the film has run a little thin.
With confidence and devilish glee, Free Fire is a biting ensemble comedy that’s more wit than bullets.
Grade: B-