Fury Review

Inglorious.

Film review by Isaac Handelman

Wardaddy, Brad Pitt’s character in Fury, is bound to draw comparisons to his memorable Inglourious Basterds persona, Lieutenant Aldo Rayne. The characters share a southern drawl (though Wardaddy’s is a tad inconsistent) and a penchant for, and enjoyment of, killing Nazis. In reality, they have very little in common, stemming mostly from the fact that Wardaddy is not a character in any conventional sense, even though Fury’s screenwriters try their darndest to convince viewers that he is. Pitt dials in a predictably strong performance, but he’s incapable of elevating Wardaddy above the complete lack of personality that the script imbues him with. The same can be said for much of Fury, a film with much loftier ambitions than its two-dimensional screenplay allows for.

Commendably, the film makes no effort to portray World War II on a grand scale, choosing instead to focus squarely on a single tank crew on a single mission over the course of a single day.

Viewers are immediately introduced to the five men that comprise the titular squad and their silly “war names”: the aforementioned Wardaddy (Pitt), kindhearted Bible (Shia LaBeouf), token jerk Coon-Ass (Jon Bernthal), Mexican alcoholic Gordo (Michael Pena), and frightened newbie Norman (Logan Lerman). Performances are strong for the most part: LaBeouf proves he is worthwhile in a somewhat reserved role, Pena provides a steady source of comic relief, Bernthal shows off his scientifically-perfected portrayal of an asshole, and Lerman, though not as consistent as his cast-mates, usually does well enough with the considerable material he’s forced to grapple with. The talented performers on-hand help to establish a believable rapport between the members of the crew.

Unfortunately, director David Ayer’s screenplay fails almost completely in its attempts to flesh out the crew members in any capacity beyond their effective-though-superficial dynamic. Feeling sympathy for these men is difficult given how little we actually get to know about them.

The director proves more capable at imbuing Fury with fantastic visuals. Ayer constructs a few especially stunning silhouette shots and war-torn vistas, and his gritty style lends itself perfectly to the depiction of WWII-era tanks. The raw realism of the central tank, both inside and out, can be jaw-dropping.

Ayer also wastes no opportunity to depict the horrors of war; yes, Fury is definitely not for the squeamish, and, in fact, probably not for anyone with any opposition to the glorification of violence in cinema, as the film is bound to violate such moral conducts. Fury’s uncompromising depiction of the horrors of war could be seen as a necessary evil. However, questions as to whether the fact that Fury’s crew is (usually) gunning down the facelessly evil SS-regime renders the over-the-top brutality acceptable are bound to arise. The film reaches such extremes in its overt hatred of the Nazi regime that it borders on propagandic at times.

That is, until the film’s conclusion, wherein Fury attempts to pull a surprising 180-turn, but ends up leaving its audience with some confusingly mixed-messages as to what exactly it’s trying to say.

Fury’s uncompromising level of violence and murky mood make it a difficult film to call “fun,” but it’s certainly entertaining. Ayer’s penchant for hard-hitting action sequences are put to great use here. Though they aren’t exactly fast-paced, Ayer does a phenomenal job of keeping the action sequences relentlessly tense. Every bullet, mine and tank blast carries with it a tangible impact. An air of unpredictability presides over the entirety of Fury’s duration, earned by the film’s tendency to thrust its characters into trouble at a moment’s notice.

If only Fury was as dramatically rewarding and thematically consistent as it is brutal and kinetic, we may have been graced with a war film that lived up to the promise of its simple, effective title.