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Writer/director David Ayer (End of Watch, Suicide Squad) is far from the first filmmaker to present audiences with a taste of the harrowing, soul-crushing realities of warfare, but the subject is one worthy enough to bear much repeating. Fury stars Brad Pitt as an American tank commander leading his four-man crew through dangerous German territory near the end of World War II. A young typist played by Logan Lerman (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) is assigned to replace Pitt’s dead bow-gunner at the start of the film, fully unprepared for the sights, sounds, and disturbing experiences of frontline combat. Pitt and the older men try to toughen Lerman up, but we can also sense that they mourn for his loss of innocence. Like many other war films, Fury is about men in crisis, fighting with each other as much as they depend on each other for survival.
Many male viewers are sure to identify with Pitt’s aggressive, paternal-like relationship with Lerman’s character. On one hand, he has to scare Lerman into being a ruthless killer if the boy is to ever survive their ordeal. But on the other hand, he takes no pleasure in stomping out Lerman’s humanity, something Pitt and the older men are lost and hollow without. The most compelling thing about Fury is the willingness of its male characters to necessarily sacrifice their humanity in the name of war. One can argue whether any war is ever necessary, but once it’s engaged, this sacrifice is often essential, dooming so-called heroes to lives forever changed — forever lessened by the horrors they witness and the sacrifice they make. To this end, I may never grow tired of good World War II stories because they so often cut straight to the heart of what makes us human during the times that define us.
Fury is well-staged and beautifully shot, but Ayer sometimes teeters on the brink of excess. The grim imagery and graphic violence feel sensationalized and exploitive at times. Steven Price’s score is similarly overwrought and wholly unnecessary. This is the kind of film that needs no musical embellishment. The film features one of Pitt’s best performances. As the leader his men trust with their lives, he carries the suffocating weight of responsibility in many quiet, wordless moments away from the other characters. Shia LaBeouf gives a remarkable supporting turn as the tank’s gunner, a thoughtful character who clings to religion as his guiding light. As the loader, Jon Bernthal fulfills the obligatory ‘asshole’ role, while Michael Pena plays the alcohol-loving driver.
Ayer’s script is tight and entertaining, even if it treads a lot of familiar ground. The middle portion of the film, in which Pitt and Lerman share dinner (and more) with a couple of German women before the other tank team members ruin the moment, is the most refreshingly original part of the film. The third act is a familiar ‘final stand’ sequence, but by the time it comes, we’re invested in these characters — stock as they may be — enough to care about the outcome.
With Jason Isaacs and Jim Parrack.