Warfare (2025)

Warfare doesn’t ease you in—it drops you straight into a war zone and doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. You’re embedded with a Navy SEAL team in Ramadi, and from the first shot to the last, the film is relentless in its realism. No big speeches. No clear heroes. Just noise, dust, confusion, and fear. It’s a technically sharp, emotionally raw piece of work that tries to show what war feels like in the moment. And in that sense, it succeeds. But for all its commitment to honesty, I came away feeling distanced, unsettled, and unsure—about the film’s message, its emotional core, and maybe even its purpose.

There’s almost no narrative scaffolding here. The soldiers aren’t given much backstory. They’re not built up as individuals with dreams, doubts, or pasts. We get fragments—barely enough to hold onto—before the next explosion or ambush. This gives the film a powerful immediacy, no doubt. You feel thrown into the chaos alongside them. But it also keeps you at a distance emotionally. You watch them suffer and struggle, but you’re not truly invited into their inner lives. There’s power in restraint, but here it feels like something essential is missing.

Then there’s the focus—tight, almost claustrophobically so—on the Americans. We see almost nothing of the civilians whose city this is, nor of the broader political forces that brought these young men here. The intention may be to reflect the tunnel vision of combat, but it also risks reinforcing a narrow, one-sided narrative. Without exploring the humanity of those on the other side of the war, or even acknowledging the complex context in which this violence unfolds, the film toes an uneasy line. It risks perpetuating a mythos of brotherhood and sacrifice without questioning the system that demands it.

And that brings up something deeper—something ethical. When a film chooses to strip war of its context, when it zooms in on American soldiers while muting the suffering around them, what is it saying? Or maybe more accurately—what is it not saying? There’s a fine line between depicting war as hell and accidentally making it feel noble, or inevitable, or worse, apolitical. Warfare clearly wants to avoid glorifying anything, but by staying silent on the why and the who of it all, it might unintentionally do just that.

There’s also the matter of casting. The performances are strong—D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, Will Poulter, Cosmo Jarvis—all deliver. But their familiarity pulls you out of the experience just enough to remind you that this is still a production, not a lived reality. Using lesser-known actors could have heightened the sense of authenticity and helped the story feel less like a stylised portrayal and more like a true account. When you’re telling stories about real, traumatic events—especially ones still living in memory—the line between representation and re-enactment matters. A lot.

On a technical level, though, Warfare is masterful. The sound design is shattering. The cinematography is tight, uncomfortable, perfectly anxious. The editing rarely gives you space to settle, and the minimal use of music adds to the rawness. Everything about the production feels measured and precise, even as the subject matter spirals into chaos. It’s designed to shake you up—and it does.

Compared to other war films—The Hurt Locker or Black Hawk Down—this one stands out for how stripped down it is. But those other films gave you at least a glimpse of the world beyond the battlefield. They tried, in different ways, to grapple with the cost of war beyond the body count. Warfare doesn’t seem interested in that—and that’s where the ethical question deepens. Is showing war as a sensory experience enough? Or does a film like this have a responsibility to offer more—context, reflection, critique? Because the truth is, when you make a film this realistic, you’re not just entertaining—you’re shaping how people understand war. That’s no small thing.

So yes, Warfare is a powerful watch. It’s honest in its portrayal of combat, unflinching in its detail, and technically excellent. But it’s also narrow, emotionally distant, and—perhaps unintentionally—ethically murky. It wants to show war without glorifying it, but by refusing to interrogate it, it leaves too much unsaid. If you’re looking for a film that plunges you into the fire and leaves you rattled, this one delivers. Just don’t expect it to leave you with answers—or peace of mind. Maybe that’s intentional. But it still left me wondering: to what end?