Wrath of Man‘s Procedural Revenge/Heist Won’t Incur Much Feeling From Anyone

Guy Ritchie and Jason Statham. Usually a match made in cockney ‘eaven, the pair that made their industry bones together are in for a modern reunion thanks to the upcoming spy movie Five Eyes and the heist-revenger Wrath of Man. Hopefully the former captures a bit more of the old spark between the filmmaker and his tough guy more than the latter, which sees the duo tentatively try out an older, more mature rhythm to their shared work with mixed success.
In Wrath of Man, Statham plays a newly hired armored car guard (who obviously has a bit of a past, more than even your run-of-the-mill armored car guard) and right away we can tell he’s up to something. Nobody else goes full John Wick their first day on the job. He’s dubbed “H” by his mentor/carmate Bullet (Holt McCallany) because, as it’s a Guy Ritchie movie, everyone needs a handle. “Boy Sweat Dave” and “Hollow Bob” don’t quite work like Snatch’s Franky Four Fingers or Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels’ Chrises Big and Little. Turns out small-time motormouthed London lads make these kinds of names stick better than straight-faced all-Americans in a professional workplace.
This cultural disconnect is the first stylistic complication of the narratively complex film, which unpacks exactly what H’s plan is while Ritchie juggles a trio of ensembles: Those that work for the armored car company, those looking to rob them and those lingering in H’s backstory. Not only do H and Bullet have their own supporting cast of goofballs (including John Hartnett’s aforementioned Boy Sweat Dave), but we’ve also got to deal with Jeffrey Donovan’s faction of soldiers-gone-bad (featuring the always forgettable Scott Eastwood) and another group seemingly led by a downright uncanny Andy García—all while figuring out how exactly the groups relate to each other.
If that sounds complicated, that’s because it is, in structure if not in content: The cold and nasty plot hits the same inciting robbery over and over from every concerned party’s angle, unraveling the moment H goes from regular badass to the avenging angel that Wrath of Man’s opening credits tease with its woodcut imagery. The film plasters more dates and times on screen than my phone’s Google Calendar alerts, but Ritchie handles the timeline with relative precision and clarity. It’s done well, but done to death—sort of like how H deals with literally anyone.
It’s also indicative of the script as a whole, which is as solid and meticulous as the camerawork when depicting process and scenario. I was happy to spend so much time with the old-school heist set-up exploring daily on-the-job activities. It even has a solid grip on its theme, telling a tale of codes and honor—the responsibilities one has to those that trust them—and the off-kilter, warped-mirror version of that macho ideal: The faux locker room loyalty of soldiers and team sports that unravels in the face of base selfishness. In Ritchie’s world, loyalty comes in a single form. It’s simple, brutal and far more rare than everyone thinks.