Some movies meet their moment effectively. John Patton Ford’s How to Make a Killing is not one of them. Maybe if the 2020s were a little more like the 1930s its subject matter on the entitled pursuit of immense wealth would be worthy escapism for a broadly economically disadvantaged audience. Maybe it would in any case and it’s just this movie that has a hard time selling it authentically. It could be the attitude of the script or of Glen Powell’s performance, but there is something a little uncomfortably arrogant to this movie that renders its supposed virtues disingenuous. This in spite of some real energy there is to it.
How to Make a Killing is a modern remake of the classic British Ealing comedy Kind Hearts and Coronets, in which an underdog distant heir to a vast fortune systematically kills off the relatives ahead of him in the line of inheritance. A key difference though is that the earlier film is notable for having all of the eccentric relatives played by a single actor -Alec Guinness, and that apart from this it actually conveys its story without much absurdity or satire. Ford’s movie omits that gimmick, likely to allow his star Powell to occupy the protagonist role, and it might be to the film’s overall detriment to lose a marker as distinct as that.
Granted it can’t be denied Powell is convincing as the heir to old money, even if his character, appropriately named Becket Redfellow, didn’t grow up with that reality. This story and that of his crimes is told via an awful and awkward framing device of a last confession before execution on Death Row, a context where Powell’s natural sharp-witted smarminess is perhaps the least appropriate and the writing is very clunky and quite unnatural, at least at the start. Within this we learn of Becket’s family misfortune -how his mother left the Redfellow clan after becoming pregnant via her working-class lover, raising Becket in New Jersey with nonetheless a sliver of hope for his inheritance -that he was essentially an elite in the making. As an adult in New York, after losing his job as a suit salesman to nepotism, he embarks on a long-gestated plan to murder those relatives ahead of him in line for the fortune, a strange array of characters themselves. Along the way he is occasionally pursued by his rich childhood crush Julia (Margaret Qualley), who herself is unusually invested in his receiving his inheritance.
Ford consciously steers focus more towards Becket than his victims in some contrast to the source. While the relatives are each bizarre in their own ways, they do not in this film overshadow Becket himself and his own character trajectory -which is a fair way of distinguishing this interpretation. And Becket does resort to several elaborate ruses in pursuit of his plan -he plays disguise in some respects as well as Guinness did (or Powell himself did in Hit Man). His different machinations are entertaining, and Powell plays it all very well, if a bit overly cavalier at times. If he's not in those graces yet, he has all throughout the demeanour and arrogant charisma of a smooth, privileged golden boy. But then the movie struggles in trying to make him relatable.
One of the highlights of the movie is Ruth, delightfully played by Jessica Henwick, a cute, humble schoolteacher who despite Becket's years-long infatuation with Julia, he can't help falling in love with. Initially the girlfriend of a pretentious artist Redfellow played by Zach Woods, she is Becket's polar opposite in mindset and a grounding force through the latter stretches of the narrative, challenging Becket's commitment to his inheritance when he has all the means to fashion a contented life with her. The conundrum is pretty cliché, but you have a hard time buying the film's faith in it, especially as it depicts the world of wealth in aesthetic terms meant to be glamourous and appealing, including insinuations of material, sexual excitement offered by Julia, subtly egging Becket towards that long-held fantasy. Qualley does alright, but she doesn't present a convincing alternative and isn't allowed to be her own character with real impact on the narrative until the end. In the meantime, Becket's ambition is more and more unappealing -in spite of the fun of the murders- and Ford and Powell alike struggle to justify his continued commitment, especially within an earnest framework.
The film might have done to emphasize the silliness better, although it is still pretty fun. Ford landed on some good ways of translating the stereotypes of the posh British aristocratic class to modern American spheres of privilege and elitism. Woods's dimwit art impresario is an enjoyable one, so too is Topher Grace's prosperity gospel preacher. Bill Camp plays the one decent member of the family, who feels remorse at never connecting with his nephew and gives him a job. The family patriarch Whitelaw (subtle name) -a steely Ed Harris- has no such warmth or regret at casting out Becket's branch of the family. All of them, even a couple minor relatives, inhabit a specific space in the American one per-cent that their deaths feel cathartic -potentially more-so if their lifestyles weren't specifically envied by our protagonist.
Ford himself doesn't envy them though, the contrast with Becket's ordinary life with Ruth making that clear. And it is beset by occasional curious tension on how he's going to be brought down, interrogated repeatedly by FBI agents suspicious at the close proximity of all these deaths and his unconvincing nonchalance in the face of them. This long con is paced out fairly well, and has at times the absorbing effect of Roofman, but it doesn't build its emotional stakes as well -especially when Becket goes to confront Whitelaw and the real circumstances of how he got to that jail cell play out. Making it into a development of bitter irony that turns Becket into a victim of another's devious machinations has a certain sting to it, and the ending impressively matches in bleakness that of Kind Hearts and Coronets. But it is also more than a touch convoluted and highly implausible as relates to the Death Row conviction he presently finds himself under. Once again, the hackneyed scripting of the narration device doesn't help the situation feel any more tangible.
At the end, the note of punctuation is meant to be much stronger, and indeed it could have been if a little more of the movie had worked. If it had developed its characterization a bit better and touched up the writing in some critical places, or if it relayed just a little more sincerity in its central themes. Powell is still a likeable leading presence (he fits in better here than in The Running Man), but that is only in spite of the weaknesses in construction, some of which do nonetheless rub off poorly on his performance choices. How to Make a Killing is working with a terrific premise and does relate some of that terrific stuff well -not just the fun murders but that attraction to a charming, humble relationship, in spite of the movie not wholly believing in it. It is ultimately a modestly enjoyable movie, but highly confused and lacking thematic cohesion. Maybe it did need more silly rich caricatures -without Becket coming close to being one himself.
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