Few films have been released this year that created as much discussion as Alex Garland’s fourth effort as a director, Civil War. It may be the most debated film of 2024, which may be true for years. Garland’s film about a near-future American civil war is provocative, searing, and exceedingly well-crafted, but I suspect many will ask, “What’s the point? What is it trying to say?” In that way, the film can feel slippery due to its choice to be largely apolitical in these exceedingly political times (especially being released in a presidential election year).
Garland’s choice to have Texas and California be the initial secessionist states is cheeky and might seem to be playing the “both sides” game. And since the film never explains why the war started or how one of the most conservative states banded together with one of the most liberal (and then pulled in several more states) against the United States government, that might feel like a dodge—although it’s helpful to remember that Russia and the United States were uneasy bedfellows against Hitler during World War II.
I think Garland gets away with this lack of specificity for two reasons: the film’s breakneck pace and by dropping us onto the battlefield when the war is nearing its end. There is almost no breathing space in the film’s brutally efficient 109-minute running time to think about the “why?” Also, by bringing us in just before the war’s climax, you get the feeling that the fight has been going on for so long that all the characters know the cause, so they don’t need to speak of it. Worse yet, some characters appear to have just gotten used to it, like a habit, as if to say, “I wake up every day, and I shoot at people. I’m not even sure why anymore.”
It’s a curious and perplexing choice, but by making the core of Civil War a road movie about four journalists whose only interest is to get the story of the final days, be it through the written word of Wagner Moura’s Joel and Stephen McKinley Henderson’s Sammy, or image by Kirsten Dunst’s professional photojournalist Lee, and Cailee Spaeny’s fledgling photographer Jessie (all excellent—particularly Dunst in superb no-nonsense form), I’ll be damned if Garland doesn’t pull it off—at least while you’re watching the film. But it does leave you with a lot to wrestle with after the credits roll.
Some may see Garland’s decision to not reference either American political party as a chickenshit move or a stroke of genius that intentionally evades expectations and points you in a different direction that may or may not be of more interest depending on your perspective in these divisive times.
Having Nick Offerman (an avowed libertarian in real life) play a thick-waisted, misinformation-delivering Commander-in-Chief who has (without explanation) violated the Constitution and is serving his third term would seem to point at a very particular politician of the current day. It’s difficult to think that Offerman isn’t playing a version of Donald Trump here, but since his performance is essentially a cameo (he is seen only at the very beginning and the very end of the film), how this man came to power appears less critical to Garland than the idea that such a man could, and what his ascension might result in.
It’s the unspoken actions of this despotic Presidential figure, the resulting shredding of the country into two separate factions, and the human cost that comes with it that makes up the bulk of the film. In this regard, it is difficult to say that Garland hedges in the slightest. To a degree, almost every war film has the subtext of how the battlefield can change a person by bringing out the dark parts of their deepest recesses that they didn’t know existed. Civil War leans into the abyss with an often stunning fearlessness that captures the cruelty of war and man’s inhumanity to man like films of its kind seldom have.
By centering the film around journalists who take extraordinary risks to document history in real-time, Garland, perhaps incidentally, pays tribute to their courage (which borders on insanity) while also suggesting a very modern lack of interest in how the story turns out. This is a film that is, at least in part, about the fierce desire to get the story first—despite the cost, which for each member of the foursome will be grave in one way or another.
I think Garland’s (and I’m theorizing here) position is that the reason for the war doesn’t matter as much as the reality of its possibility–even in a country known as a bastion of democracy. This is the artistic choice he makes. It’s a decision that opens him and his film up to criticism, but I don’t think it’s a choice made out of weakness.
Alex Garland is a filmmaker who operates in bold strokes, whether in his consecutive masterpieces Ex-Machina and Annihilation or his perplexing (if occasionally fascinating) most recent curio, Men, Garland should be given some leeway here. The last thing he’s ever been is soft. On top of that, Civil War was not distributed by a major studio, but rather the increasingly powerful indie operation A24, which has successfully positioned itself as the modern-day Miramax—a studio whose very logo on a project signifies a certain level of quality and ambition. A24 has not only done well on the indie circuit (and at the Oscars) with films like Room, The Witch, and Moonlight but recently broke into the mainstream with Everything Everywhere All at Once and The Iron Claw.
Civil War, in terms of budget ($50 million—the company’s most significant investment in a single film ever) and its wide release (like many indie studios, A24 tends to create buzz through limited release before deciding to increase a film’s theatrical accessibility) is a big move for the outlet. Civil War is the film the company chose to take themselves to the “next level” (god, how I hate that cliché, even if, in this case, it applies).
As such, one might question if the film was deliberately compromised with a largely apolitical perspective for mass appeal or simply allowed the filmmaker to follow his muse. Regardless, both the company and Garland deserve the benefit of the doubt. And there are roots of this perspective in other films. While Oliver Stone’s Platoon was certainly political (although far less so than his future projects), there was significant time spent by the US soldiers depicted in the film questioning their purpose of the Vietnam War and why they were there at all.
Garland certainly goes far beyond that by not even having discussions among his characters about those questions. Still, I felt a tenuous spiritual connection to the two films in that regard. A more obvious point of agreement is that both Platoon and Civil War are films fiercely committed to the “war is hell” aesthetic, and both showcase that hell in ways that might just singe your eyebrows while watching.
In particular, there is the already much-discussed five-minute sequence with a too-far-gone character played by Jesse Plemons, who, in the process of creating a mass grave and filling it with countless bodies, detains and questions our intrepid reporters. The scene is harrowing not only for its brutality but due to the soulless way Plemons (dynamite as always) interrogates the press crew, and how he decides who lives and dies is so oblique that there is no way for the reporters to know what answer may save their lives.
The outcome of this deadly sequence leads to two scenes, one shot with grace and another that delivers a level of grief that borders on madness. In the first one, a reporter, wounded and dying, takes in the strange beauty of the floating embers created by explosives through the window of his shot-up vehicle. In the contrasting second scene, another character unloads a silent scream after their partially successful escape. Garland holds for several extra beats as if to dare the audience to look away.
At a time when our democracy is at risk, while Russia and Ukraine are engaged in war, and Israel and Gaza are embroiled in what seems like an impossible, endless, and recently escalated conflict that has expanded beyond the borders of both territories, Civil War is very much a movie of the moment. There’s no way to watch a raid on the Capitol that destroys the Lincoln Memorial and not think of January 6, even if the terms of the invasion are indeed not mirror images
Earlier in the film, the reporters are seen discussing their jobs. Dunst points out that their mission is not to ask questions but merely to note what happened and leave those questions to others—those who write the history books, I suspect.
Film historians will be writing on the meaning of Civil War for a long time in articles that will be in distinct opposition and conversations that may become heated. In what might be a perverse view, I find that likelihood thrilling. Because Civil War, whether you greatly admire it or hate it (I doubt there will be much in-between), is a movie that will matter long after the screen goes dark and the film comes to streaming services.
The financial success of Civil War and the conversations the film has created prove that cinema can still engage beyond cinephiles like myself. As hard a ride as the film is and as perplexing as its point of view (or lack thereof) may be, it is not dismissible. For this alone, I am grateful for its existence.
Despite the masterful direction, excellent performances, and fiercely distinctive technical qualities, Civil War has largely been forgotten during this awards season. Part of the reason is likely due to its April release date. Films that hit theaters in the first half of the year are often victims of the short-term memory loss of the Voting Academy. The other reason in play is that it’s just too polarizing to commit a vote to. Of course, none of this really matters. Films that have won Oscars have rotted and died on the vine, whereas completely overlooked titles have blossomed into all-timers. I don’t anticipate Civil War receiving any Oscar nominations when the roll is called up yonder in Hollywood. I do believe that over time, Garland’s profound and punishing work will become a touchstone of modern cinema, Academy be damned.
