‘Warfare’ – Review
In a cinematic world where war films often lean into spectacle or sentimentality, Warfare is a sledgehammer to the chest; a raw, unrelenting assault on the senses that redefines modern combat storytelling. A24’s latest entry into the war genre sees former US Navy SEAL Ray Mendoza teaming up with boundary-pushing auteur Alex Garland (Ex Machina, Men) to deliver a boots-on-the-ground combat experience so visceral and uncompromising that you don’t just watch it—you survive it.
Warfare embeds audiences with a platoon of American Navy SEALs on a surveillance mission gone wrong in insurgent territory. A visceral, boots-on-the-ground story of modern warfare and brotherhood, told like never before: in real time and based on the memory of the people who lived it.
Clocking in at a tightly wound 95 minutes and based entirely on Mendoza’s firsthand memories of a harrowing November 2006 mission during the Battle of Ramadi, Warfare is not your typical war movie. It’s a real-time descent into chaos and carnage, captured with such pinpoint authenticity that you’ll forget you’re watching fiction. This is combat cinema stripped down to muscle, blood, and nerve endings.
The premise is razor-sharp: a group of young Navy SEALs are tasked with sniper overwatch during one of the bloodiest phases of the Iraq War. But what begins as a routine operation spirals into an all-out siege, as a surge of insurgent forces overruns their position. With one of their own critically injured by a brutal IED attack, the unit must fight tooth and nail for survival while desperately trying to extract before it’s too late. The stakes couldn’t be higher, the tension couldn’t be thicker, and the action doesn’t let up for a second.
Mendoza and Garland’s decision to tell this story in real-time is a masterstroke. From the very first frame, the clock is ticking, and the weight of inevitability hangs over every moment. The calm before the storm is almost unbearable, and when the firefight ignites, the film explodes into full-tilt chaos. Bullets scream, RPGs crash, and the audience is plunged into a sonic and visual nightmare that never feels choreographed—it feels lived-in.
The camera rarely strays far from D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai’s Ray, the platoon’s radio man and the emotional heart of the story. His performance is a marvel of restraint and vulnerability, capturing the psychological cost of combat even as he follows protocol and keeps communication flowing. Woon-A-Tai doesn’t just act the part: he embodies it, grounding the entire film in lived emotional truth. Through his eyes, we witness the horror, the confusion, the courage, and the trauma of war in its most unvarnished form.
Backing him is an ensemble that absolutely brings it. Will Poulter’s stoic Erik, the commanding officer, delivers quiet authority that begins to crack under pressure. Charles Melton’s Jake is a revelation; brave, brash, and utterly fearless as he charges into the breach. Kit Connor’s Tommy, the fresh recruit, has his mettle tested in the worst possible way, and his transformation is gut-wrenching to behold. Taylor John Smith’s Frank provides the calm eye in the storm, a sniper with nerves of steel, while Joseph Quinn’s Sam is all intensity, bravado, and raw emotion. But it’s Cosmo Jarvis as SEAL sniper and Corpsman Elliott Miller who devastates. After suffering a horrendous IED attack, Miller becomes the film’s focal poin, not just as a wounded warrior, but as the soul Mendoza seeks to honor. Jarvis’ performance is painfully human, capturing both the physical agony and quiet heroism of a man doing everything to make it out alive on his brothers’ watch.
The technical aspects of Warfare are nothing short of masterful. Cinematographer David J. Thompson shoots with immersive fluidity, often going handheld to mimic the disorientation of battle. The sound design is where Warfare truly becomes transcendent. Rifle cracks echo like thunderclaps, radios hiss with desperation, and the ‘show of force’ airstrikes rumble through your bones. It’s a sonic assault that doesn’t just make you hear the battle—you feel it in your chest.
Garland’s DNA is all over the film’s aesthetic and structure—there’s a razor-sharp focus, an existential edge, and a deep respect for silence amid the chaos. But it’s Mendoza’s soul that powers this engine. This isn’t a Hollywoodified version of war. There are no slow-mo hero shots or orchestral swells here. This is grit, blood, bone, and brotherhood; raw and unfiltered. Mendoza isn’t trying to glorify the violence; he’s forcing us to witness it. He’s saying: “This is what happened. This is what we endured. This is what it cost.”
And it’s that sense of truth that makes Warfare such a gut punch. Every second feels earned. Every bullet feels real. Every sacrifice hits hard. What truly elevates Warfare, however, is its respect for the veteran community. This is their story. Their pain. Their endurance. Their brotherhood. Mendoza didn’t just make this for the screen; he made this for the men he served with, especially Elliott Miller. And that authenticity radiates through every frame. This is a story of valor without glamor, of chaos without clarity, of heroism without reward. It is, in every sense, a war film for the real world.
Warfare isn’t just one of the best war films of the decade; it’s one of the best films of the year. Period. It’s harrowing, unrelenting, and searingly authentic. Mendoza and Garland have created something rare: a war film that isn’t about victory or defeat, but about endurance, sacrifice, and truth. When the dust settles and the credits roll, you won’t be clapping. You’ll be sitting in stunned silence: shaken, haunted, and grateful for the story shared.
Image: A24
