Fury is brutal. It's now one of my favorite war movies -- ranking behind Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker (2008) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) and Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan (1998)-- but I don't know how many times I'll watch it again. Writer/director David Ayer has crafted a compact, concentrated, and complex vision of war as hell that left me reeling and, yes, weeping.
Our battle-scarred heroes are at the forefront of the final stage of World War II, pushing into the heart of battle-scarred Nazi Germany in their battle-scarred tank, named Fury. Like their tank, the five-man crew has to act in perfect tandem or risk injury, death, and -- more important for them -- defeat. Passing through enthusiasm and honor to isolation, desperation, and horror, the men are forced to eventually make a last stand (literally at a crossroads) against a small army of Nazi elites. This story is not for the faint of heart.
Brad Pitt's performance as the leader of our team is really solid. It wasn't the best I've seen from him, but he carries the film with a risky and successful war-hardened stoicism. His character, however, is wildly interesting, as in one scene he shoots an unarmed prisoner in the back, in one he protects two German women from his own men. He also acts as brother and father to his team, drinking with them and breaking in the fearful, idealistic new member. His crew consists of admirable actors Jon Bernthal (The Walking Dead) and Michael Pena (End of Watch, Gracepoint) in strong performances, and Pitt takes his orders from an understated and haunted Jason Isaacs (The Patriot, Harry Potter).
The real acting gems in this movie are in Logan Lerman and Shia LaBeouf. Lerman (Percy Jackson, The Perks of Being a Wallflower) -- the young, recently enlisted typist -- can't fulfill his role as gunner due to his idealistic innocence. Pitt literally forces him to shoot a Nazi prisoner, and Lerman's arc from miserable disillusionment to the hero of the film is the stuff of aged veterans. LaBeouf (Nymphomaniac, Disturbia) plays the chief gunner and spiritual counsel to the group, and frankly his tears brought mine every time. Well-meaning but spiritually tortured, his Bible-quoting rhythms and compassionate emoting brought a much-needed sense of humanity to the film. I strongly recommend you see this movie simply for his performance, if nothing else. Which is saying a lot, because the claustrophobic atmosphere brings these five men together with remarkable homosocial honesty and emotional vulnerability.
In our world of role-playing, first-person, over-simplified, graphically violent war games, my favorite thing about Fury is that it never once feels simple, computer-generated, or remotely machismo in its approach to the subject matter. Ayer eyes most of the rubble-strewn, muddy landscape in grayscale, and heavily dirties every prop, costume, and actor's face. He also surprises us with unexpected and shocking violence, as we see bayonets through eyes, bodies under tank treads, and legs blown apart. We even see images so subtle but profound that they enhance our horror beyond the gore, including a refugee still wearing her wedding dress, and an older woman cutting meat from a dead horse. Against the tactile grit of Fury's images plays Steven Price's (Gravity) gorgeous score, featuring a men's chorus in spine-tingling efficacy.
IMDb: Fury
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