Warfare unleashes a searing a depiction of modern urban battle. Bloody and profane, it does not flinch from the horrors of war, and that makes it effective and memorable. But for many viewers, it might be memorable for all the wrong reasons. And this R-rated drama is certainly not for kids.
It’s been said that war is “months of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.”
This story’s Navy SEAL platoon—holding down a nondescript building on a nondescript street in Ramadi, Iraq, in 2006—can relate.
The platoon took the duplex with little problem: No shots were fired, no civilians died. Granted, the SEALs did need to knock down a wall with a battering ram, which perhaps attracted more notice than they would’ve liked. Otherwise, the operation went like clockwork: No muss, no fuss, and it gave them an important strategic location to keep a sniper’s eye on things.
But now, they simply wait. As the platoon’s lead sniper, Elliot, stares through his scope at the comings and goings of the suspicious building across the street, the rest sit. Check their equipment. Do a few pushups. Crack a few jokes. Wait.
Wait.
Activity in the building across the street begins to ratchet up a bit. More men shuffle in and out, looking over their shoulders. One on the roof eyes their own location, peering carefully around a corner. Elliot takes note and mutters updates to another SEAL nearby, who dutifully jots them down.
Wait.
Someone sees a man carrying a weapon. More men enter and leave. A call of warning goes out over loudspeakers, and civilians begin to scatter—ushering children away, away to safety.
The waiting, the SEALs knew, is near its end. The storm is about to break.
Even so, the grenade surprised them. It hits the floor with a metallic tang, and—
Dust. Blood. A deafening buzz in the ear. And the sheer terror begins.
Warfare is based on the real experiences of Ray Mendoza, its cowriter and codirector. That lends the film a great deal of authenticity and makes it a difficult watch. But it also showcases a great deal of grim heroism—heroism not unique to this one nameless firefight in one little-heralded conflict. Those of us back home probably never heard of this little skirmish. It’s easy, from the comfort of our couches, to minimize such conflicts. Warfare reminds us that what may feel like a blip back in Indiana is a world-quaking event for those who survived it.
Chaos and pain follow that grenade; confusion and panic cascade like floodwater. But heroism does as well. Men risk their lives to pull other people to safety. People do their best to protect and patch up grievously wounded SEALs. When the platoon experiences a vacuum in leadership, others—both within the platoon and outside it—take the reins and give direction, saving lives in the process.
The Iraqi War was fought, obviously, in the predominantly Islamic country of Iraq. Accordingly, we see women wearing hijabs and some men wearing taqiyahs. Someone mentions that the men milling outside are “getting their Jihad on.”
Before heading into the streets of Ramadi, platoon members pump themselves up by watching footage of a 1980s music/workout video, which features plenty of leering shots of its leotard-and-leggings-clad female performers.
The buildings in this neighborhood of Ramadi look, to the uninitiated, very much alike. But you can’t lose sight of the building our SEAL platoon is holed up in—thanks to the disembodied leg lying just outside the front gate.
Warfare does not flinch. It does not blink. It shows it all without being salacious, but without apology.
A few characters die here. One is literally blown apart, his entrail-laden torso resting alone without a lower half. Two others are seriously wounded below the waist; their legs have been turned to mashed tubes of meat. One of the injured men screams in pain for what seems like an eternity, though it’s probably only for a few seconds. The other is mercifully unconscious for some time. But when he wakes up, he clearly feels the full brunt of his injuries.
The injured men’s fellow platoon members do what they can to ease the pain—which, given the circumstances, isn’t much. Both are given morphine shots, which help but don’t fix anything. One member of another platoon unthoughtfully brushes against and pushes a man’s mutilated leg with his own foot, sending the victim into newfound realms of agony. And when the injured SEALs need to be moved, the ordeal is obviously excruciating. (“This is gonna hurt,” someone tells a wounded man, and boy is he right.)
The grenade apparently kills one man and injures others. (We see some blood on one man’s arm.) The blast also gives someone what may be a concussion, limiting his ability to think straight.
An explosive device destroys an armored vehicle. Several Iraqi combatants are presumably killed. A tank peppers the second floor of a building, collapsing it. Fighter planes zoom through streets at low altitudes in an operation called show of force. Gunfire is practically constant throughout the last two-thirds of the film.
More than 50 f-words, about eight s-words and one use of “p-ss.” God’s name is misused three times. Crude hand gestures are seen.
Characters smoke and chew tobacco.
As mentioned, morphine is given to a couple of fighters. A man accidentally injects himself with the drug, as well.
Someone urinates. A SEAL offers a fellow platoon member some of his water; when the man accepts, the SEAL takes a swig, then spits it back into the bottle—eliminating any desire to share.
As a man’s shattered legs are being attended to, we may get the very briefest glimpse of the injured man’s privates.
When the platoon calls into headquarters, begging for extraction, their request is at first denied—alleging it’d be simply too dangerous for the rescuers. But on the ground, the officer in charge commands a subordinate to masquerade as a higher-ranked officer to authorize the rescue—which he successfully does.
Characters aren’t always at their best here. Some suffer moments of understandable fear or selfishness. On the flip side, one ancillary character feels altogether too amped up to kill.
War, by its very nature, rips things apart: countries, cities, people. But amid that destruction, we find a sliver of redemption. Yes, it can literally tear people asunder. But it can also draw people together. In the despair of war, we find hope in each other.
We see that dynamic in Warfare. Yes, it can be an incredibly brutal, visceral film. With most of the action taking place in what appears to be real time, I’d be hard-pressed to think of a more realistic depiction of modern warfare’s horrors. The platoon members all experience varying degrees of shock and fear and horror—emotions that can and sometimes do paralyze them. Throw any of us into the midst of the carnage and chaos we see in Warfare, and we’ll reveal ourselves to be oh-so human. We discover we’re not always the heroes we imagined ourselves to be.
But here, even as these SEALs squint through the blinding dust of battle and wipe blood off their faces, they display unimaginable courage and rescue their fellow fighters—their brothers—from otherwise certain death. Sometimes it feels like a conscious decision. Other times, it can feel akin to breathing: When someone needs help, you help. You don’t think about it, you just do.
Hollywood has sometimes been accused of glamorizing war or, on the flip side, demeaning or demonizing those who take part in it. Warfare does the opposite: It shows the horrors of war and the honor of the men who fight to protect our freedom. It takes us into nightmare and introduces us to the people who lived to smile after.
The screening I attended included a number of veterans, and I overheard a few say how accurate Warfare felt. Yeah, they’d say, it’s a hard movie to watch—but an important one. People need to understand what really happens. They need to know the cost.
I understand all that. But for our purposes, we also need to emphasize one other thing: Warfare is brutal. It leaves you exhausted and speechless. It assaults both your eyes and ears and leaves you with images hard to shake.
Warfare is as good as its name—as realistic and searing a depiction of modern urban battle as you’ll likely see. But it’s not for kids, not by a longshot. And those unprepared for what’s to come might leave feeling a little shellshocked.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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