War Machine review—Netflix fearlessly asks, “What if Predator was Transformers?”
Alan Ritchson, who played Reacher, takes on extraterrestrial robots in an action thriller with some better-than-usual streaming special effects.
You’d be forgiven for avoiding Netflix’s brutal, militaristic action movie War Machine at this point. There is, after all, a real war going on (is there ever a good time, one may argue?), but those behind the film would most likely cite its sci-fi nature as a distinguishing defense.
The conflict depicted in this film is not between the United States and a foreign earthly force; instead, it features our countless soldiers battling against aliens. It’s a clear “if you like” column filler for fans of Predator, Edge of Tomorrow, and, if they exist, Battle:
Los Angeles, but unlike the many films it’s clearly inspired by, the extraterrestrials here are designed to resemble machines from another country rather than another planet, with robotic whirring over tentacle slithering.
It gives the film a slightly generic gloss, like a cheaper Transformers spin-off, but it’s also free of the infamous Netflix murk, that flattening filter that turns most colors to gray, as the film was acquired by Lionsgate.
Set in Colorado but shot in Australia by native writer-director Patrick Hughes and given a theatrical distribution there last month, it makes for a slicker-than-usual streaming premiere, an easy, drink-your-way-through-it Friday night alternative for people who want to remain completely unchallenged.
In another era, it would have received a large theatrical release, and its comically muscular hero, Alan Ritchson of Reacher fame, would have been one of Hollywood’s most prominent actors.
The actor, who has found an unusual lane as the progressive man’s action hero (despite his brawn-first on-screen persona, he’s become an eloquently outspoken critic of all things MAGA, much to the right’s fury), is an obvious Arnie upgrade, at 6 ft 3 in with the body of an over-pumped GI Joe, and so he makes for the obvious star of a Predator rip-off (the pair are co-headlining a Christmas comedy later this year).
It’s ironic that, while the Predator franchise has strayed into surprisingly diverse territory with leads who are either female, of color, or both, this remix has returned to its more traditional red-meat roots—white, bro-y, gung-ho—with even a mercifully small role for Trump-loving sycophant Dennis Quaid.
In an almost parody-level predictable cold open, Ritchson’s hulking soldier, known as 81, has been deployed in Afghanistan with his younger brother (Jai Courtney, returning to basics after breaking bad brilliantly in the sharp shark thriller Dangerous Animals), and as they quip and discuss their future training to be army rangers together on the side of a dusty desert road, it’s not hard to guess that tragedy is about to strike.
Rushing forward to the present day, 81 is a pill-popping shell of the man he once was, but he is still desperate to become a ranger, undergoing a harsh selection course designed to screen out those who lack the necessary qualifications.
But when his crew (which includes familiar characters like Stephan James and Keiynan Lonsdale) is dispatched into the woods, he realizes that something more evil than the US military is hunting them down.
It’s also not difficult to predict what’s coming, given the clumsy insertion of news items about a descending asteroid, and once the combat begins, it’s not difficult to predict how it will all end.
And instead, action is, most of which is at least staged effectively enough with some decently super-sized special effects that, for once, wouldn’t have looked out of place on a far larger screen (I’d also recommend turning the volume up at home).
Hughes keeps things crisp and to the point, even if some of his set pieces feel a touch reheated. I wished the alien had more personality, since it is overly reliant on familiar “scan, target, destroy” technology rather than anything more innovative or nasty, resulting in a large death count with little real impact. Despite the fact that it is supposedly unique, everything feels like a sequel or remake.
Ritchson is caught in the thankless mindset of “haunted,” which makes it a performance that’s easier to compliment for his physical effort than anything more emotional; his by-the-book boomerang journey from stoicism back to becoming “officially one crazy motherfucker” never truly sparks alight.
But, like the movies around him, he does what he has to do; everything here is just about serviceable for the moment, but never noteworthy enough for the one after.