Bound to be one of the most discussed films of 2024, Alex Garland’s Civil War is not what many might have imagined it to be. That shouldn’t be much of a surprise at this point in his career. Garland has long shown himself to be a filmmaker who circumvents expectation in lieu of something far more exciting. The initial hook of this film, from the very moment it was announced, was enticing. Instantly, people began speculating on the fictional circumstances, how it would relate to the political turmoil of modern history, and exactly what such a scenario grounded in reality would look like. And upon seeing the film, it could be argued that Garland’s latest isn’t even necessarily interested in those elements. But that should be expected from his follow-up to Men, a film built on seemingly breaking down the notion that he’s a subtle filmmaker. There’s often been nuance to all of his scripts, and Civil War is no different. It’s just a matter of what he chooses to focus those subtleties on that makes him one of the more exciting contemporary filmmakers working in genre fare. That Garland is able to balance both the blunt force of his film’s setting alongside the nuances of what makes up the human psyche is fascinating. And it’s all funneled through the fear present in the mind of the audience and the characters we’re watching.
The title card appears in the most simple font imaginable. And that inclusion alone feels indicative of what Garland is trying to make abundantly clear as early as possible. While the idea of California and Florida seceding and joining forces against the rest of America is deeply compelling, the questions it brings up are irrelevant. This isn’t a film about a fictional civil war as much as it is about how the people living in such a time will react. And so much of that weight rests on the shoulders of photo-journalist Lee (an understated, yet deeply resonant, Kirsten Dunst). When we first see her, she’s as stone-faced as can be in her hotel room. But the second she’s in the field, in an old but mighty Ford Excursion, it’s easy to see the shift in her demeanor. It’s something that Garland and frequent cinematographer Rob Hardy have a clear focus on throughout the film: both minute and overt human expression in the face of a waking nightmare. As Lee and reporting partner Joel (Wagner Moura) head down abandoned streets towards a protest for water, Dunst’s eyes scan the surroundings at a mile a minute. She’s constantly observing, not just looking for her next possible photograph, but there’s a palpable (and understandable) wariness to her character. She’s a notable war photographer, and one can only imagine the horrors she’s faced that we’ve not been made privy to. Even so, with such experiences that have left Lee clearly jaded and emotionally isolated from the rest of the world, there’s a haunted element to her character. With the opportunity for her next photograph comes the very real immediacy and aftermath: to get those shots, one must put themselves in the literal line of fire. And to do so objectively, Lee must observe rather than engage. It’s one of the many chilling observations Garland makes with Civil War. In order to reveal an ugly truth about human experience, some are forced to dehumanize the very subject they capture in order to highlight something objectively.
At one point, having reluctantly taken young photographer Jessie (Cailee Spaeny) under her wing, Lee reminds her that photo-journalists cannot start asking questions regarding the photo opportunities they see. By the time they begin asking, the moment for the photo has passed, and in turn, the innately truthful nature of capturing a moment candidly. The duty they’re performing is essential, but the toll taken is leagues beyond what many can imagine. To fight for what you believe in while placing your life in the hands of fate is one thing. To remove every aspect of yourself beyond your eye and your camera in the same scenario seems impossible. In turn, the ways in which the mind comprehends and reacts to such imagery is completely up in the air. It’s entirely dependent on the type of person you are. And we see some of the possibilities in how each of the core characters react to the America they find themselves in in Civil War.
The film follows Lee, Joel, Jessie, and journalist old-timer Sammy (the legend, Stephen McKinley Henderson) as they make an 857-mile journey to Washington, D.C. We never see location tags for each stop along the way, but it doesn’t really matter. This is an America that’s fictional, yet dangerously close in some sense. It certainly doesn’t help that archival footage is littered throughout the opening moments of the film that depict civil unrest and societal turmoil. Whatever lies in the near-future for America may not be a 1:1 match with this film, but to pretend Garland’s latest is a massive stretch of the imagination feels like an error in judgment. So with every stop comes a sense of wonder, and a sense of fear. It all feels familiar for anybody who has taken a roadtrip across the country, even if it’s only across a handful of states such as the scenario here. Wide open fields of farmland, large department store parking lots, gas stations surrounded by nothing in every direction. While each new stop reveals a bit about the country and time Civil War takes place in, Garland is far more interested in dissecting the inner workings of his press team.
Lee and Sammy sit on a couch in the middle of an empty lot at night, watching the sky light up with gunfire and explosions. And in Lee’s empty stare and bordering on emotionless face, we can see the shock hidden within. But in some ways, it doesn’t affect her, primarily because she refuses to allow it to. She has closed herself off from the images she captures for so long that she is merely going through the motions. One can imagine that, in her mind, she was merely waiting for the moment when taking photographs in her own country was going to become the assignment. Not looking forward to anything of the sort, but merely expecting it. Dunst’s performance is chilling in this regard, as we see somebody grapple with the intense feeling of fundamentally failing. She makes note to Sammy how every picture she ever took felt like a warning being sent back home: This is the horror of war. And yet, there they are, watching the horrors from a distance, knowing that their assignment will bring them into the center of it all. It’s then that Joel comes along, bottle in hand, with an energy that’s on the opposite end of the spectrum. It feels akin to a child at a restaurant, anxiously awaiting the dessert he can see, but isn’t allowed to touch until he finishes the rest of his vegetables. He practically begs Lee to head in the direction of the fighting. She is reticent, but agrees to go the following morning. If Lee has built walls around her mind and heart in the name of self-preservation, Joel has removed any and all protection. It seems that he has embraced it, not in a lackadaisical manner, but in one that forces him to consistently dive into the nightmare. If he’s constantly ducking down from gunfire and running to and from cover, he’ll never be granted a moment where he’s able to reflect on how the world around him is breaking him in every way imaginable. In both of their cases, the psychological and emotional damage they’ve faced feels irreparable.
In the middle of them both is Jessie, who represents a bit of a third response at times. Spaeny handles this performance quite well, as it’s a pretty large balancing act between the mindsets of both Dunst and Moura’s character. She’s seen a mere fraction of what they’ve seen up close, but it feels like she’s lived most of her life in this new America. Internally reckoning with the news online is one thing; being the one capturing it all is another entirely. Yet her tenacity and commitment to being a war photographer is admirable: Joel wants to tan that flame, but it’s perhaps the first time in a while that Lee has opened herself up emotionally, if only for a moment. She knows what’s in store for Jessie should she join them on this assignment: it has happened to her many times over throughout her career. So with that, Lee is not necessarily cold towards Jessie, but builds yet another wall for herself to hide away from the possibility of experiencing needless loss. And it’s clear that Jessie, while able to hold her own in some ways, is being broken by what she’s now experiencing firsthand. She begins the film wide-eyed, anxiously excited to be joining a personal hero. She’s given her big break, only to quickly realize there’s nothing to revel in. It’s a job that’s often thankless, constantly dangerous, and almost has a guarantee of warping your very sense of self. And as we see after a particularly harrowing sequence, all she can do is uncontrollably vomit and barely register that it’s occurring. All the while, Garland captures it coldly. There’s no dramatic reaction, no cutting away. It’s as gross as it is upsetting, but always understandable. Anything Jessie might think to do in that moment will likely be the wrong choice, but by that point, she’s too entrenched. The America of Civil War is an unforgiving one, and this is made frighteningly clear by the third act, which could very well be one of Garland’s greatest cinematic achievements yet.
Most of this film focuses moreso on the reactions to battle and the aftermath than actual action. This is still the case for the third act, but there’s just so much of it. It’s a complete attack on the senses, both visually and sonically. The audio is so loud you can barely hear yourself think, let alone what the characters are shouting at one another. The edges of the frame begin warping and blurring as psyche’s begin fundamentally cracking under the unthinkable pressure. Instinct takes hold in each of them, but Garland focuses primarily on Jessie. Her transformation into a hardened war photographer is maybe not complete, but something almost unnatural has taken hold in her. She moves haphazardly between soldiers, refusing to listen to any orders. If we were to see her actual point-of-view, one could imagine the edges of a viewfinder being permanently burned into her sight lines. In searching for that opportunity for the perfect shot, she excitedly rushes forward in the same ways Joel exhibits. And the fear we once saw in her eyes is now glossed over like Lee, instead focusing on making sure it’s committed to a photograph. And upon those breathtakingly chilling final moments, Civil War reveals what Garland is so worried and so angry about. Empires have risen and fallen throughout history. But now, when every waking moment is captured, we’re destined to live with those images for eternity. And the bank of horrific images will simply grow and grow. In the end, a younger generation will be left to forever live with the remnants of a society they captured the collapse of in real time. And even still, just as Lee hauntingly stated, no lessons will be learned from it. It will merely exist as the most recent chapter of horror.
A24 is releasing Civil War nationwide in theaters and IMAX on April 12.