Charismameister Glen Powell headlines A24‘s How to Make a Killing (now streaming on VOD platforms like Amazon Prime Video), a modern-day remake of classic British black comedy Kind Hearts and Coronets that doesn’t quite make the best use of its megawatt-star lead. The project had been in development for more than a decade, its John Patton Ford-penned screenplay lingering on the Black List before – warning: YIKES incoming – Shia LaBeouf and Mel Gibson were cast to star for director Jon S. Baird. Once Ford caught fire as a director thanks to his extraordinary Emily the Criminal, he took over the project and cast Powell, Margaret Qualley and Ed Harris for an eat-the-rich story that never adds up to the sum of its highly talented parts.
The Gist: Subtitle: FOUR HOURS UNTIL EXECUTION. Yes, that’s “execution” as in “state-approved killing.” Becket Redfellow (Powell) nibbles on his last meal when the prison chaplain (Adrian Lukis) drops by for a little reading of last rites – and to lend an ear, which is when Becket begins telling his story, and the film flashes back a few decades. Becket’s mother Mary (Nell Williams) was born into an old-dough family worth somewhere between $18 and $19 billion. But when she gets knocked up as a teenager, her parents disown her. She has the baby, gets a job, raises Becket to appreciate some of the finer things in life (one of them is archery, so tab that one as Chekhov’s rich-people skill), gets sick and dies. He was only 13. His grandparents’ servants hand the boy a note that says “We hope this finds you well” and the rest of it can be summed up like so: “Eff off forever.”
So young Becket cycles through the foster system and grows up to be played by Glen Powell. As he works in a high-end men’s clothing shop in New York City and commutes home to his apartment in Newark, he keeps his mother’s last words to him, that she wants him to live “the right kind of life.” What exactly that means is up to interpretation, but knowing that his name is on a Redfellow family trust as the eventual heir to billions? Well, it gives him a sense of purpose. A quest, perhaps. He’s folding shirts at the shop one day when in strolls his childhood friend Julia Steinway (Qualley). They haven’t seen each other in years. She’s romantically entangled, so don’t go there. But she is aware of Becket’s place in the Redfellow pecking order. “Call me when you’ve killed them all,” she quips as she walks away. A germ of an idea planted, perhaps?
Of course, Becket’s low on the Redfellow-inheritance pecking order, with nothing but peckers in front of him. They’re all cousins: Taylor (Raff Law) is a deplorable finance bro. Noah (Zach Woods) is an artist who signs his shit “The White Basquiat.” Steven (Topher Grace) is a scam-artist megachurch pastor, emphasis on the “ass” part. Who’s gonna miss these guys? Chode city, bro. As he knocks them off, Taylor’s father (Bill Camp) gives Becket a lucrative gig at his financial firm, and Becket pairs up with Noah’s sweetheart of a girlfriend, Ruth (Jessica Henwick). Hey, she was going to leave that turd anyway. Meanwhile, the FBI sniffs around and so does Julia, who knows more than the authorities do. Assuming he’s getting away with it (at this point anyway – don’t forget the death row framing device), consider the question Becket’s presented with: He has a good job and a great life partner – is that not enough? “Enough what?” is his reply.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of? Last time we watched a satire with a protag bent on killing people for financial gain, the wildly brilliant No Other Choice kinda ruined the whole concept for the foreseeable future.
Performance Worth Watching: Camp brings some grounding humanity to the story, Harris gnashes his teeth with chilling conviction (as the nasty patriarch with the okey-dokey! rich-guy name of Whitelaw Redfellow) and Qualley is terrifically eccentric. Again: talented parts. But the sum? I dunno.
Sex And Skin: Nah.
Our Take: How to Make a Killing reminds us about the corruptive influence of wealth and it could be funnier in doing so, to compensate for the lack of any true insight – but then again, it’s easy to be distracted and possibly consumed by Powell’s perfect hair and flinty little side-eye glares. Thankfully, we have the supporting cast to further redirect our attention, whether it’s Qualley giving off more unsettling-sociopath vibes than the lead, or Henwick’s down-to-earth characterization of a woman who gave herself permission “to dream small.” And then we’re supposed to be amused by Becket offing a bunch of loathsome, privileged assholes, although we never quite laugh like we do at the recurring sight gag of the entire Redfellow clan gathering at the family mausoleum, as the musical score hits a comically downbeat nte.
Which is to say Ford’s steely visual consistency never syncs with the tonal chaos of all of the aforementioned. It doesn’t read like a grab-bag of this and that and the other until the credits roll and you wonder what all the fuss was about, and come to the conclusion that the movie’s part of an overarching eat-the-rich narrative that’s popular in our modern culture, but ultimately has nothing more insightful to say than Y’know money? It makes people BAD.
Considering Powell’s natural and compelling ability to play the smartest guy in the room, it’s baffling as to why his performance doesn’t elevate the messy execution of the script. At the risk of confusing legitimate criticism with assertions about what movie I might’ve made, Ford could’ve created greater contrast by leaning into the story’s more farcical components. Maybe make the FBI more outwardly bungling Frank Drebin types, or the douchey Redfellow cousins a little weirder and more colorful instead of overly familiar caricatures. Rendering the entire project funnier – more Coenesque, perhaps – might distract us from the plausibility concerns inherent in a plot where rich people are being picked off one by one by a person with a glaringly obvious motive.
How to Make a Killing works its way through satire, melodrama and ironic twists without seriously challenging our ethical concerns, or even amplifying the suspense within individual moments. Part of the drama depends on whether Becket is a good-enough liar to convincingly execute his scheme without getting caught, and too often we’re left wondering, Why isn’t there more tension in this scene? (Powell did this far more effectively in Hit Man, so don’t blame him.) And why aren’t we more entertained by the icky-but-funny notion that loathsome, annoying, self-centered rich people deserve to be dragged to the bottom of the ocean or exploded into little meaty bits? The film should’ve gone a little harder, taken more risks, indulged the fantasy to remarkable extremes. As it stands, the film is extremely unremarkable.
Our Call: How to Make a Killing is a disappointment that might function as a viably distracting slab of entertainment if you’re a fan of Powell, less discriminating and/or bored with a free stream of the movie parked in front of you. But once you hit three qualifiers, you might just need to SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog hugged him once.
