Civil War
Civil War
An adrenaline-fueled thrill ride through a near-future fractured America balanced on the razor's edge. A group of journalists must race through battlefields to the White House before DC falls. Featuring Kirsten Dunst, Cailee Spaeny, Wagner Moura, Stephen McKinley Henderson and Nick Offerman.
Angel reviewedSeptember 9, 2025
Getting tired of yourself and using dissonance as irony seems to be the latest trend. *Devs* was a masterpiece; this is a reverberation of the same, filtered through ears that no longer understand euphony.
Or maybe it's the result of an obscene sum from the Democratic party for the production of propaganda, because ads no longer reach the Zoomers. Who knows... in the end, it's always a bit of everything, like in any recipe that stinks.
It’s the typical can of preserves, packed with the necessary messages to scare people. A little bit of spice here and there, heat it all up, and as long as it’s digestible, it’s considered food.
Shots copied from the war masterpieces of the last century that pale in comparison when you simply rewatch *Apocalypse Now*. Supporting characters appearing out of nowhere—because of course, we all know what happens to supporting characters who walk into a scene without context in the middle of a horror movie. The master who sacrifices himself to fix his apprentice's mistake; twice, yes, *twice*—I know. The "truth" of half the American population repeated over and over again amidst "explosions" and "deaths." All so very original.
Antithetical songs laid over slow-motion shots to accentuate the absurdity. The absurdity of what? Of the war? Of focusing on only one side? Of this specific moment in the film? Of the creation of the film itself?
Everything is so rotten that not even contradictions create harmony; it only conveys a ridiculous spiral of desperation. And no, Garland, I'm sorry, but the visuals don't save you from mediocrity when you don't know how to weave them together with everything else.
It’s as if he's laughing at himself while filming this trash. Maybe he's trying to send us a message by sabotaging his own campaign ad, or maybe money blinds you so much that in the end you just do what you're told in order to live well.
It doesn't matter which it is. Another one has just fallen. Nolan and Villeneuve have better withstood the stench of decay that floods the screen when the goal is to influence the viewer.
We will have to return to a time when cinema is insignificant so that creators can once again piss on the orders of "Mr. Money."
The time has come to start spending my time on something that actually makes sense, and to escape this torment I'm in for refusing to accept that what we are witnessing these years is, quite simply, the end of the United States' reign over the Seventh Art.
The Seventh Art is dead. Long live the Seventh Art.