Civil War

It's very powerful.

Clamorously making its claim on viewers’ attention by subject matter alone, rather than by artistry or world view, the film is a kind of advertisement for itself.

Look at it as a movie for posterity, and it becomes a worthwhile movie to savor, but nothing else—and you’ll survive. Admire Civil War as an amazing film of imagination and cinematic verve but nothing else—and you will, too.

The script’s dispassion is what gives the film its oxyacetylene-like power as prophecy.

Alex Garland’s film is a fascinatingly empty meditation on journalism and our political divides.

This may mark an intellectually leaner effort from the filmmaker, but there’s still meat on the bone for the viewer to chew on. That is, if they can stomach anything after watching its brutal violence on American soil.

Rather than the toothless mess of banal political equivocation that people suggested it would be based on little more than a trailer and some promotional material, Civil War is as incisive and biting as any political thriller released this century.

Alex Garland’s latest directorial effort depicts a United States torn apart from within. It’s a visceral and harrowing journey.

This is not a film that pulls punches. But ultimately it’s not a film about war, it’s a film about who records the war.

Civil War is a better film about photojournalism than it is about the implosion of American society, with Garland subtly suggesting that just about nobody knows who or what they should be firing at. Whatever the case, it is never less than gripping.