They Will Kill You

It felt like another piece of nonsense to me. I already had little patience after The Mummy, and this immediately gave me the feeling of wanting to be wild, violent and stylish by copying the surface of much better films. It wants a bit of Kill Bill, a bit of hyperviolent action, a bit of comic-book energy, a bit of satanic horror and a bit of satire against the rich, but most of the time it felt like a cheap imitation.

The problem is not that it is exaggerated. I can enjoy excess a lot when there is talent behind it, rhythm, personality and a clear idea. Kill Bill was madness, yes, but it had elegance, humor, music, choreography, memorable characters and staging that knew exactly when to be serious and when to laugh at itself. Here, instead, I often saw posing: blood, attitudes, supposedly cool lines and violence used to pretend there is style.

The premise could have been fun: a woman inside a luxury building, a strange elite, violence, conspiracy, cult elements, almost immortal rich people and a protagonist forced to fight her way through blows and carnage. On paper, that does not sound bad. But the film falls so in love with its own noise that it loses what might have made it interesting. More than a story, it feels like a collection of gimmicks.

Zazie Beetz holds up what she can. She has presence, moves well and is easy to side with because the film needs a protagonist with energy to survive so much accumulation. But I also felt she deserved a better film. She tries to give body and humanity to the nonsense, while everything around her insists on becoming louder, bloodier and more "look how crazy I am".

The action has moments that are watchable, I will not deny it. There are punches, knives, blood, bodies smashed around and a physical energy that, in some stretches, avoids boredom. But even when a scene works a little, comparison with its models hurts it. It lacks precision, beauty within chaos and the feeling that the camera is in control of the madness. Too often it looks like violence edited with enthusiasm, but without real finesse.

I was also bothered by how recycled everything felt. I did not experience it as homage, but as photocopy. There are influences from Tarantino, Sam Raimi, modern splatter, choreographed action close to video games and horror comedy, but almost none of them feel truly digested. The film does not turn those references into its own voice; it displays them like trading cards.

The satire did not convince me either. The discourse about the rich, exploitation, powerful people locked inside their own world and those below turned into disposable bodies is there, but it has little bite. For such a violent film, it is strangely not very sharp. It shouts a lot, stains a lot and breaks a lot of things, but when it has to say something nasty, it stays on the surface.

The tone stumbles around. At times it wants to be horror, at times black comedy, at times brutal action, at times satanic fantasy and at times broad social critique. That could have been fun if it had more control, but here it felt more like disorder. I did not feel wild freedom; I felt a film trying to seem crazier and cleverer than it really is.

Besides, when a film boasts so much about excess, it needs to surprise. And it stopped surprising me early. Every new death, every twist, every strange character and every bloody outburst seemed to come from the same manual. There comes a point when violence, however brutal, becomes routine. And then it no longer shocks or amuses: it simply tires.

What pushed me out most was that constant desire to be cool. The film seems to look at itself in the mirror in every scene, delighted with its own aesthetic. But having style is one thing; being in love with the idea of having style is another. Here I felt the effort too much. It wanted me to think "what a fun outrage", and many times I thought "what a cheap copy".

Even so, I would not push it to the absolute bottom because it does have some energy and because Zazie Beetz does not give up. There is the odd entertaining stretch, the odd well-resolved blow and a desire to take everything over the top that may work for viewers who enter that game. I understand that some people may enjoy it as a bloody fairground attraction. For me, however, it lost me very early.

In the end, for me it remains a heavy, derivative and rather stupid film. It wants to be Tarantino, Raimi, modern exploitation and anti-capitalist satire all at once, but without the personality needed to hold it all together. Lots of blood, lots of shouting, lots of posing and little soul. A violent piece of nonsense that copies Kill Bill in a cheap way and, apart from isolated moments, felt more exhausting than fun.