Fury, the new war thriller from Sony Pictures Entertainment, written
and directed by David Ayer, fires on all cylinders. “Wardaddy,” played by Brad
Pitt in a career-defining turn, is a Sherman tank commander who must guide his
crew into the heart of Nazi Germany at the end of World War II. Fury is the
name of the Sherman tank “Wardaddy” commands, with members of her crew played
by Shia LeBeouf as the preacher/soldier nicknamed “Bible” and Michael Peña as
the Mexican-American soldier “Gordo.” Fury
explores the psyche of this crew as they go up against unspeakable odds,
waging their lives for the outcome of a war that’s already been decided.
Fury is an unrelentingly bleak film, from the stark setting of the
desolate landscapes of Germany to the spiritual crisis “Wardaddy” and his crew experience
dealing with the horrors of war. “It ain’t pretty, but it’s what we do,”
“Gordo” explains to rookie soldier Norman, played by Logan Lerman, who is
thrust into the cockpit of Fury as an assistant driver at the opening of the
film. The crew of Fury are bound by harsh experience and an increasingly
fatalist sense of duty, determined to destroy an enemy that’s been defeated but
continues to fight. Norman enters this world green as can be, and is quickly
schooled by “Wardaddy” in the art of Nazi-killing. The personification of
innocence and naïveté, Norman functions as a foil to the perpetual guilt shared
by the rest of the crew for the things they’ve done. In a long, centerpiece
scene where Norman and “Wardaddy” befriend and have dinner with two German
women in an apartment, the other members of the Fury crew crash the proceedings,
chiding the idea that friendship with German civilians washes away past wartime
transgressions. “Gordo” then recounts a scenario the crew experienced after a
harrowing battle, acting as group confessor. They are men linked by shared
experience, haunted by the weight of their supposedly righteous acts.
It’s these kinds of scenes that
give Fury its gravitas, as it is essentially
a handful of extended scenes bound together by sparse dialogue. The dinner
scene serves as something of a centerpiece for the film, framed by the taut,
explosive tank battles, which unfold with clockwork precision and high tension,
as the crew of Fury work between themselves to survive against the Germans’
superior tanks. Much of the power of the actors’ performances lies in their
world-weary faces; Pitt seems to be in a state of constant vigilance and
fatigue, both inside and out of his tank. LeBeouf, as a preacher, frames the
plight of the crew by suggesting the salvation offered by Jesus; The crew’s
skepticism is undercut by the fact that salvation is so sorely needed. Acting
as the conscience of the group, LeBeouf turns in a career-making role, preaching
to the crew that what they are doing is the will of God while looking nothing
less than a shattered man.
Though the sparse and
straightforward nature of David Ayer’s script is refreshing given that war
films are frequently overly ponderous with their dialogue as to the nature of
war, at times it comes off as limited and clumsy. In a follow-up to the German
dinner scene, “Coon-Ass,” played by Jon Bernthal, suggests to Norman that he is
a “Good guy,” unlike the rest of the crew. It is this kind of contrived
exposition where the film comes off as ham-handed and obvious, better suited
for simmering ambivalence.
Thankfully there is still much
ambivalence to be found, and though Fury
is a bleak, harrowing tale of warfare, it is never less than spellbinding. A
definite victory in the careers of actors Brad Pitt and Shia LeBeouf, Fury also showcases director/writer
David Ayers as a force in barebones storytelling, both dialogue and
visuals-wise, that portrays the pitch-black heart of his subject; In this case,
the toll war takes on men.
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