Review: How to Make a Killing

Director:  John Patton Ford

Stars:  Glen Powell, Jessica Henwick, Margaret Qualley

What a conundrum Glen Powell is. Back when he was providing comedic support in the likes of Ryan Murphy’s Scream Queens or Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some!! it was easy to single him out as a charismatic MVP. Tom Cruise must’ve thought so, taking the actor under his wing in the aftermath of filming Top Gun: Maverick. Maybe this influence is what has soured Powell’s transition to leading man, because the tentpoles that followed – Twisters, Anyone But You, The Running Man – have all evidenced an awkward charm vacuum. Now with sizeable projects resting solely on his shoulders, Powell keeps coming across as an unpleasant alpha presence, peacocking arrogance with a shit-eating grin. There’s no escaping it. As a lead he’s… off-putting.

He takes the reins and exec produces here in John Patton Ford’s near scene-for-scene remake of prestigious 1949 Ealing comedy Kind Hearts & Coronets; Americanised and updated for the 21st century. Instead of acting as a droll reflection of the declining British Empire, How to Make a Killing targets the USA’s billionaire 1%, and does so from the vantage of pure avarice. There is nothing more desirable than untold riches, even if you haven’t a clue what you’d do with so much.

Powell is Becket Redfellow, disinherited heir to a colossal fortune, rapidly orphaned in his youth. His departing mother (Nell Williams) beseeches him not to settle for anything less than the lifestyle he’s entitled to, while a happenstance reacquaintance with childhood crush turned maniac femme fatale Julia Steinway (Margaret Qualley) seeds in him the notion of bumping off the seven family members who stand between him and the family estate. Despite living in relative comfort and forgetting the nepotism parceled his way by Wall Street uncle Warren Redfellow (Bill Camp), Becket keeps his eye solely on the prize. That is, until a true love enters the equation in the form of his cousin’s wife Ruth (Jessica Henwick).

In truth How to Make a Killing diverts from its source immediately by having Becket tell his ‘tragic’ tale to a priest rather than write out a damning confessional, but it’s the treatment of the women in the story that truly crowbars Ford’s film away from Robert Hamer’s. It’s arguably the element that works better, as we’re encouraged to appreciate that there’s a genuine connection between Becket and Ruth, and have the distinction that Julia is pure piranha in a high-end suit, so there’s no way Ford can keep the ending originally assigned. It adds an element of uncertainty and risk even for those well versed in this caper, and gives the piece a shot at genuine heart.

In Kind Hearts & Coronets, Alec Guinness played all eight members of the wealthy D’Ascoyne family; a maverick bit of work that helped secure the film its reputation. It’s probably wise of Ford to skip such a stunt this time around in a post-Eddie Murphy world, but it does leave How to Make a Killing a mite less eccentric. The modernising of the telling extends to the filmmaking, which is risk-averse but appropriately slick for a mid-budget comedy crime caper in the era of Netflix. With plenty of family members to bump off and a romantic love triangle to negotiate, Ford has no trouble keeping the momentum high.

Powell, for his part, fairs better than in his prior leading assignments. Granted, his quaffed, All-American, square-jawed appearance doesn’t quite align with the character’s requests for our sympathies, but Becket doesn’t look out of place in the Manhattan wealth management district, and Powell’s cocky arrogance suits the character’s sometimes misplaced confidence. He’s ok here. And he’s well-supported. Qualley continues a streak of appearances that suggest she’s a ’40s dame born in the wrong era. Henwick brings the requisite realness. Camp is as great as he always is. And there are notable guests in the array of Redfellow targets, particularly Topher Grace and Ed Harris, both on form.

How to Make a Killing can’t help feeling quite, well, mercenary, though. While there’s decent schadenfreude in watching rich pricks getting bumped off, Becket’s desire to be one of them doesn’t tesselate with the rising status quo against the concept of billionairedom. The amassing of grotesque wealth is still presented as breathlessly aspirational. And perhaps this is honestly reflective of the prevailing values retained in America.

The changed ending doesn’t hit with quite the same sting as Hamer’s, but left to ruminate on and it has it’s qualities. There’s an argument to be made that it ruefully reflects a culture of lawlessness among the super-rich while, equally, you could argue that justice truly has been served, and that Becket’s fate is what he deserves. As far as these things go, this is a decent enough update on a classic. The OG doesn’t feel tarnished and newcomers won’t care a jot. Spiritual bankruptcy is sort of the point of How to Make a Killing, and it gets this across with strident efficiency and enough good humour. An easy watch.