Free Fire, 2016.
Directed by Ben Wheatley.
Starring Brie Larson, Armie Hammer, Cillian Murphy, Sharlto Copley, Babou Ceesay, Enzo Cilenti, Jack Reynor, Sam Riley, Noah Taylor and Michael Smiley.
SYNOPSIS:
Set in Boston in 1978, a meeting in a deserted warehouse between two gangs turns into a shootout and a game of survival.
Ben Wheatley deserves a rest. Since 2009, he’s directed six features, 14 episodes of a Johnny Vegas vehicle and two further episodes of Doctor Who. No genre can contain him, his previous, the hysterically overwrought High-Rise fell somewhere between the dystopian fantasy of A Clockwork Orange and a chic advert for a flat share. He’s dipped his toes into horror (the truly unsettling Kill List), the psychological (the psychedelic A Field in England) and social satire (Sightseers). Free Fire – a further divergent – is Wheatley’s bold, brash homage to the ashen, nihilistic gunfights of the 70s. Hair is bigger, suits are all collar and lapel and bullets rain down, all to the tune of John Denver.
Plotting is appropriately sparse. Bernie (Enzo Cilenti) and the bruised and beaten Stevo (Sam Riley playing delightfully against type) have been hired by presumed IRA terrorists Chris (Cillian Murphy) and Frank (Michael Smiley) as glorified muscle. Joining their corner of reprobates is fixer and singular female Justine (Brie Larson).
On the other side, we have leering pervert South African Vernon (Sharlto Copley), his associate Martin (Babou Ceesay), Gordon (Noah Taylor) and trigger happy Harry (an ever brilliant Jack Reynor). Acting as the middleman is suave psychopath Ord (Armie Hammer). As a deal is about to be finalised, a trivial grudge is reignited, triggering a gunfight for the ages.
Wheatley and regular collaborator Amy Jump, by some miracle, avoid monotony. Even at its absolute loudest, it never happens on the cacophonous dirge so often apparent in action cinema. They even find a novelty in leaving characters all but paralysed by bullet wounds. There’s no running, let alone walking. Bullets lodged deep leave them crawling as if suddenly infantalised, clambering for the nearest weapon.
As logistical challenges go, choreographing a 90-minute gunfight in a single warehouse may just take the biscuit. Director of Photography Laurie Rose (another regular collaborator) defines space with a deft intelligence and lends a dirtied lens to the burnt oranges and muddy beiges, whilst sound designer Martin Pavey performs wonders, achieving sonic bliss between the gunfire and comic quips.
Pinpointing a singular MVP is tough. Wheatley stuffs the frame with stars and wastes few. Reynor and Riley bounce off one another like Abbot and Costello dizzy on crack cocaine while Copley achieves a rare charm amidst a sea of sleaze.
Oscar winner Larson avoids the sort of tokenism usually reserved for the single female in action cinema and those lesser known-Enzo Cilenti and Babou Ceesay are given a wealth of material.
Armie Hammer, seemingly forever on the cuff of super stardom, reminds us further why it is he should be a cinematic mainstay. He floats from scene to scene in a daze of cigarette smoke and musky aftershave, all charm amidst the grime and general unpleasantness. In fact only Noah Taylor feels wasted, his Gordon really only ever acting as muscle.
“If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off,” so says Chekov. Well Wheatley took that into account and brought it to it’s absolute extreme.
Free Fire is joyous anarchy. It’s brash, bold and proudly obnoxious and all the better for it.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★
Thomas Harris
Originally published March 29, 2017. Updated April 16, 2018.
