“Warfare”, written and directed by Ray Mendoza and Alex Garland, is not for the faint of heart. Solely based on memories, the movie reenacts an attack on the Alpha One NAVY SEAL platoon in Ramadi, Iraq, on Nov. 19, 2006.
In a time when war films often double as recruitment ads, “Warfare” takes a jarring left turn. This move is not the classic American propaganda piece wrapped in stars and stripes, nor does it seek to glamorize the elite image of Navy SEALS. Directed with unflinching honesty, the film dares to show war as it truly is: not a proving ground for valor, but a relentless descent into chaos. From the opening moments, it is clear this movie is not interested in bullet-pointing victories. Rather, it focuses on the brutal unraveling of even the most rigorously trained soldiers. The SEALs, often depicted as untouchable action figures in other films, are here portrayed as real people: skilled but vulnerable, confident but ultimately unprepared for the emotional taxation of the mission.
The ensemble cast, initially a point of apprehension given their roots in teen dramas and social media fame, shatters previous expectations. Each actor delivered a performance loaded with nuance and verismo, grounding the film in unrestrained reality rather than spectacle. Joseph Quinn, in particular, gives what could easily be an award-winning performance. His haunting screams rang loud throughout the theater, shocking viewers with the unsettling undertones of war.
Sound design plays a crucial role in this film. Silence is used as a weapon. Gunshots come suddenly and without warning. Explosions leave behind more than debris; they leave emotional craters. The screams are not just cries of pain, but of existential collapse. These are not heroic yells for backup or justice; they are the sounds of men watching their understanding of the world disintegrate in real time.
One of the most sobering moments in “Warfare” comes from the film’s final scene: an Iraqi woman, standing amidst the ruins of her home, screaming “why” over the blood-soaked floorboards where her family once stood. Her brief moment on screen repositions the entire narrative. It is not a twist, it is a correction. A reminder that while the psychological toll on soldiers is authentic and wholly worthy of empathy, it is often civilian lives that bear the brunt of imperial conflict, especially when those lives are rendered invisible in Western media.
The single word, why, became the film’s thesis. Why the mass destruction? Why the sacrifice? Why the blood spilled, the trauma inflicted, and the lives lost? “Warfare” does not offer any easy answers. In fact, it leaves viewers with a chilling silence, forcing them to question whether any of it was worth it.
“Warfare” is not an easy watch, and it is not meant to be. But it is essential for anyone tired of the hollow bravado of modern war cinema. It is a film that dares to suggest that the cost of war is not just paid in blood, but it is paid in memory and in the silence left behind when the smoke finally clears.
