WARFARE (2025)

As someone who’s seen many films, I’m aware of the difficulty that encompasses filmmaking, and if you ask me, making a war film may be one of the most difficult genre-specific films to create. It’s nigh impossible for one to dramatise a war film’s emotional weight, ambience, energy, militaristic fervour, and aesthetics without creating something positively titillating. They become exalted, dignified, and ennobled even; painted in a manner that contradicts the very nature of the absurdity that occurs on screen—an occurrence of unconscious inception solely because of the medium’s voyeuristic nature.

However, if one is proficient in filmmaking, then this natural allure the genre has can be mitigated with the right approach. Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) is the first film that comes to mind when thinking of war films that defy their genre’s inherent exaltation. Then came Andrei Tarkovsky’s Ivan’s Childhood (1962) and Elem Klimov’s Come and See (1985) afterward—the latter being a favourite of Alex Garland’s that he would use as a source of inspiration for Civil War (2024) and his latest film, Warfare.

The genius of Come and See is known throughout this artistic fandom, whether one has been directly exposed to it or has only read up on its existence. The film drops you into a world inspired by Germany’s occupation of Byelorussia in World War II, but without context, and focuses on a young Belarusian peasant boy who wishes to join the resistance movement to fight against fascist ideology—an idea that has completely transfixed him into a state of unfiltered glee due to an influential ethos centred on honour, valour, respect, and camaraderie.

From this point on, the protagonist of Come and See joins the resistance and witnesses firsthand not only the absurdity of war but also the profundity of apathy and darkness that is the Third Reich. Klimov has us, the viewer, watch as this poor boy suffers through loss and the unspeakable, nearly incomprehensible atrocities in the most grievous coming-of-age odyssey to ever have been written and captured on film, one that exchanges the end goal of maturation with dehumanisation given the film’s very nature.

It’s no surprise that Garland would want to create something within the same vein as Come and See, given that the absurdity of war hasn’t ceased, nor will it ever as long as man’s unconscious still fuels their desires for progress and dominance, and that the severity of its atrocities is matched by its immensely visceral imagery, specifically the latter, as Garland’s modus operandi is using highly distinct visuals to facilitate storytelling.

Now, the question is whether or not Garland was successful at emulating the spirit of Come and See. If one were to ask me prior to Warfare’s release, I’d laugh and say, “No.” Civil War was the farthest thing from an appropriate emulation of cinematic spirit that I’ve ever borne witness to. Its foundational structure is sort of there, but it was completely devoid of the proper thematic profundity of its influence. Now, if one were to ask me today, then my answer would be different—surprisingly different—and I say “surprisingly” because I’m not a fan of Garland’s work. In fact, he is placed firmly in my internalised list of filmmakers I detest the most, along with M. Night Shyamalan, Rob Zombie, and Kevin Smith. Garland is someone with great ideas but lacks the focus and know-how to make something truly captivating; everything he’s made thus far in his career, with the exception of Ex Machina (2015), I consider to be wasted potential. That is until now.

Warfare is Garland’s best film since Ex Machina. There is no denying this, but this time around, he had a little assistance. Ray Mendoza, a former naval officer, was hired as both the co-director and co-writer to assist Garland in constructing this film, as he just so happened to have served during the Iraq War—a controversial war that left a horrid stain on US history—and uses his experience, as well as that of his fellow SEALs, during a specific mission in Ramadi in 2006 to provide an accurate depiction of the horrors of combat, which is relayed to the audience via a statement right at the beginning of the film stating that Warfare is a construct of shared memories from that time. The film then cuts to a room filled with naval officers watching what appears to be the music video for “Call on Me” by Eric Prydz and emotionally climaxing right at the song’s first auditory apex, jumping and cheering with excitement—a calm before the storm, perhaps?

The room filled with naval officers is then cut to the exterior world: Iraq, accented by pale moonlight. A moment of nighttime traversal leads to a taste of how skewed morality becomes during war, landing these naval officers a safe house for reconnaissance work. It’s from here that Garland and Mendoza show the true nature of war, one of mundanity and horror. Officers sit scattered about a room; reconnaissance work is being done by the snipers of this unit in another room. Their sightings are reported to dedicated scribblers during their around-the-clock hour surveillance sessions with little to no sleep. Food is rationed, water is shared, urine fills plastic bottles, and semantics is sacrificed for proficiency in their work.

These naval officers don’t have much going for them in terms of characterisation, not even archetypal, which I’ll get into later, but I’d argue that for the most part, this works to Warfare’s benefit. To accurately portray the horrors of warfare and to avoid facilitating the genre’s intrinsic exaltation, these characters have to be as accurate to the roles they play without any additions that would attach any labels onto them, such as the wise guy, the goofball, the grouch, or whatever. Instead, Garland and Mendoza showcase the flavour of their roles in a similar fashion to how Ridley Scott shows off the crew of the Nostromo in Alien (1979) via their interactions whilst on duty. Military jargon is exchanged whilst notes are written down and the streets are surveyed; there is this finely sharpened level of cognisance and diligence in the air, and anything that is not of this ilk is immediately shut down with silence and a cold stare and is labelled as “new guy energy.”

All is relatively quiet. Dread lurks in the ether as to whether they’ll continue to be lucky and remain safe in their safe house or whether contention will come bursting through their door, windows, and roof. There is this silent uneasiness amongst the naval officers that continues to rise, like dough in an oven, when the snipers in their unit continuously spot suspicious activity. This, along with Garland’s manipulation of cinematic elements, such as stage design, colour, and cinematography, hooked me in, conditioning me to wait patiently alongside the naval officers and bathe in whatever evocation is occurring on screen—a seamless union of elements that facilitate how well Warfare plays with tension and escalation—until it was too much to contain, causing the bubble to burst and flood the screen with horrors.

Much like Come and See, Garland and Mendoza build a baseline in Warfare for audiences to become invested in, one consisting of a grounded reality, bits of humanity, and militaristic structure, right before he places brutality at the forefront of the film, then builds off of that with escalation until the next bubble bursts, and so on. To aid in this, Garland employs the use of incredible sound design to rev up its brutality and escalation. Outside the song “Call On Me”, there are no other tunes; just the ambient sounds of life and the ferocity of ballistics permeating that space.

Bullets whiz by, breaking through glass and tearing through fabric, which can be heard travelling from one side of the theatre to the other; grenades explode with such force that it’s nearly deafening, replicating the same feeling one would have if something of that explosive force were to go off near them; the sheer impact from the boom of the naval officers’ weaponry is enough to shake the room, accented by the theatre’s subwoofer, giving the impression that we’re in the same room as them as they fire their weapons. I’ve always felt sound is important for immersion purposes, and Garland nails it!

So, regarding the question of whether or not Garland and Mendoza were successful at emulating the spirit of Come and See, I’d say, “Yeah, for the most part; however, they still fall a bit short.” Warfare is a vast improvement over Civil War on every level, including cinematic spiritual emulation, but there are two portions of this film that prevent Garland from fully succeeding, and they are the introduction and epilogue.

Garland and Mendoza do a great job at establishing a baseline in Warfare but lacks the same congealment as Come and See. The grounded presence, bits of humanity, and militaristic structure are there, but what’s missing is the attitude of mind those who go into the fray have before they’re met with the horrors of war. In Come and See, the protagonist views serving in the resistance with honour, valour, and responsibility; that doing so will make him into a man, and this fills him, as I said before, with unfiltered glee.

This bit of archetypal characterisation (the soldier) is enough to develop some sense of care towards the protagonist, especially since his characterisation is located within public consciousness, and when the profundity of evil occurs later on in the film, the sheer contrast of purity and honour towards said evil not only makes the moments that Come and See escalates towards to be all the more shockingly and horrifically impactful but also circumvents the inherent exaltation that occurs within war films.

Warfare doesn’t establish any attitude of mind; no glimpses of these naval officers believing they’re fighting for a good cause, for the greater good, for honour, for valour, and the like occur. It just starts off with the naval officers collectively watching a house music video ft. fetish aerobics with a 1980s aesthetic as a device to show a level of camaraderie amongst them, then the film goes off to establish the rest of its baseline (grounded reality and militaristic structure), which is surprising as one would think with Mendoza there to assist with militaristic accuracy, he would have included this element of militarism. It isn’t enough to establish one end of the great contrast as a means to aid in escalation and impact and circumvent the genre’s intrinsic aggrandisement. If anything, I’d argue establishing camaraderie with no glimpse into naivety facilitates the genre’s issue of innate glorification

The epilogue is also guilty of this, but in this case, considering its placement within the film, it removed me completely from the experience. This epilogue is done in a manner that is reminiscent of Abbas Kiarostami’s Taste of Cherry (1997), in that it’s a sequence showcasing behind-the-scenes footage of the making of the film, but with Warfare specifically, it shows the actors speaking to the real-life naval officers they play as who lived through the experience. Unlike Taste of Cherry, though, this bit of Warfare doesn’t exist as something complementary to everything else that occurred prior to it through artistic ambiguity but rather as a cinematic memorial, honouring those who fought in the Iraq War.

My issue isn’t this memorial’s inclusion in the film, but rather its placement. It occurs before Warfare’s title drops, followed by the credits. I was still in “film-viewing mode” when this occurred, so my mind was conditioned to think that this segment was still part of the film’s runtime, which it in fact was, based on what time the film started and when it ended, and the fact that the lights in the theatre were still off when this was playing. Placing this betwixt what should have been the final scene of the film and the end credits facilitates the genre’s inherent allurement.

We are asked to revere those who have served and, in turn, sympathise with what they’ve endured, despite all the absurdity brought about by Iraq War, and even war in general; despite the displacement of innocent families whose homes were invaded and of those who died showing resistance in the process; despite those whose homes were demolished and bombed throughout the eight-year period of the war; despite civilians fighting for a cause that doesn’t directly pertain to them but are conditioned to think so and then told to kill the opposition who has undergone the same type of conditioning; despite innocent civilians getting caught in the crossfire, dying at the hands of American imperialism, and, in turn, having the hands of parents stained with blood-soaked earth bury past, present, and future generations of life.

Garland’s and Mendoza’s placement of the memorial both compromises the emulation of Come and See’s spirit and contradicts its thematic focus on how the war dehumanises those who partake in it. We’re asked to watch these soldiers experience what ballistics and explosives do best: their fellow soldiers drop one by one, suffer from immense panic attacks, disillusionment, and all the psychological symptoms associated with the trauma of combat—a culmination of suffering that is the experience of warfare—and yet we’re asked right before the end title card pops up to venerate them for their participation, for their endurance, and for surviving such horrors.

I understand that Mendoza was a former naval officer who fought in this war and more than likely wanted to pay tribute to his team due to the camaraderie he has for them, but how does one who promotes the horrors of war then tell you that it’s important to honour conditioned harbingers of death despite their actions, which were dictated by whoever governs them? One can’t dismiss something and then show reverence for the very same thing they just dismissed. I don’t know about you, but I found this to be a bit tone-deaf. It left an odd taste in my mouth by the time the credits began to roll—a reaction that could have been avoided had Garland and Mendoza paired this together with the film’s credits, played it after the credits as a little something extra for those who stuck around, or if this was outright removed and placed as an extra on the retail release of the film.

After watching Warfare, I came to the conclusion that Garland meditated on the criticisms he had received from people regarding his previous film, Civil War, and, with the assistance of Mendoza, improved on how he would approach making war films akin to one of his favourite films in the future. I respect this, as it shows a level of dedication to his craft he seemingly lacked when he was releasing one horrid cinematic entry after the next, from Annihilation (2018) onward. What’s crazy to think about is that the difference in time between Civil War’s and Warfare’s release is one day shy of a full year, meaning Garland licked his wounds, learned from his mistakes, hired the appropriate coworker, and was able to grow immensely as a filmmaker in less than a year’s time.

I may not like this man’s work, but I have to give credit where credit is due. Warfare is a good film. It may not perfectly emulate the spirit of its main influence, nor fully circumvent the genre’s innate glorification, but it does capture the absurdity of war rather well through a culmination of cinematic elements, including sound design, which made for an enjoyable experience in the theatre.

USA • UK | 2025 | 95 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

writers & directors: Ray Mendoza & Alex Garland.
starring: D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, Will Poulter, Cosmo Jarvis, Kit Connor, Finn Bennett, Joseph Quinn & Charles Melton.