 Glen Powell in How to Make a Killing With enough charm to power an entire city, Glen Powell eats the rich and breaks bad in John Patton Ford’s How to Make a Killing. Ford follows up his feature film debut, Emily the Criminal, with a serial caper that leans on star wattage to test your complicity in a killer’s ambition. Powell plays a middle-class worker whose Everyman humility makes him a charismatic entry point into a subject that has gotten plenty of cinematic treatments: wealthy family trees full of bad apples. Aimed to satire the rich, How to Make a Killing is a who’s who of ridiculous characters and their out-of-touch lifestyles. It has the ingredients of a dark comedy, raising humorous stakes with each new blood feud introduced. The film also weaves between a corrupt family portrait and a character study, as it explores the downfall of becoming blinded by your own ambition and losing sight of humanity. At the hands of Powell’s charisma, all of this makes for a fairly entertaining journey. Ford’s screenplay, however, keeps a calculated distance from the Redfellow family and can’t quite muster up a thoughtful satire. Inspired by Robert Hamer’s 1949 dark comedy, Kind Hearts and Coronets, How to Make a Killing begins at the end. A priest visits an imprisoned Becket Redfellow (Glen Powell) to minister last-minute confessions regarding the Redfellow family murders. What follows is an embittered saga of disillusion, betrayal, and bad romance. Laced with a little sarcasm and wit, Becket proceeds to narrate the story of his life, occasionally breaking the format to address the priest’s questions. The catalyst for Becket’s cruel intentions can be traced back to the treatment of his mother, Mary (Nell Williams), who got pregnant with him out of wedlock and was shunned from the entire Redfellow bloodline. The decision came directly from Mary’s father, Whitelaw (Ed Harris), who sits comfortably atop the family tree at his Gatsby-style mansion in Long Island. In direct opposition to this imposing gothic mansion, Mary and Becket start their life in middle-class New Jersey. For as long as Mary is on earth, she makes a point of keeping Becket in the family’s wealthy circles, knowing that one day he could be next in line to inherit the fortune. Becket grows up with the mentality of dreaming big and chasing a life he feels is owed to him. Becoming more bitter by the day, however, disillusioned with the American dream and its destructive fantasy, Becket crosses the threshold from Everyman humility to moral rebellion. Infatuated with the idea of social ascension, Becket sets out to eliminate his relatives one by one and reclaim his inheritance. There is plenty of fun to be had in watching insufferable rich people get what they deserve, though there is no real comeuppance for the wealthy group of misfits in How to Make a Killing. Only a smattering of conversations around how they each define power, until Becket kills them off (barring one who passes of natural causes). For Taylor Redfellow (Raff Law, son of Jude), who seems to have walked straight from the set of a Jordan Belfort party in Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street, it means throwing one-hundred-dollar bills onto his pool party guests and leaping into the water from a helicopter. For Noah Redfellow (an amusing Zach Woods), it means calling himself an artist without the capacity to know real art if it stared him in the face. For Warren Redfellow (Bill Camp, wonderful as always), it means building onto Redfellow Investments and producing more generational wealth through the family business. Warren, who takes Becket under his wing and secures him a job, feels like the most human of all the relatives. Though, this is more of a testament to Camp’s presence than to the writing. The film introduces the Redfellows inconsistently and lacks a clear handle on what to say about them. Some waltz in for lightweight hit-or-miss comic effect, while others barely make enough of an appearance to register as part of the story. Becket’s morally grey character study is afforded more nuance. Being of the perspective that the Redfellows deserve everything coming to them, Becket maintains distance from the crimes. Each murder he commits is a deliberate act of fighting against capitalism and chasing after an inheritance with his mother’s rebellious spirit. While you never get a full grasp on his personhood outside of this ambition, his drive is unmistakable, as is his belief that each murder is completely justified. It is easy to go on this journey because of Powell’s entertaining charisma. He excels at playing odd, contradictory characters that call for a balance between arrogance and charm. Where the film nearly fails him is in the writing and overall story structure. By starting at the end, and having Becket circle back with his straightforward narration, the momentum ebbs and flows. The film often spells out emotional reactions and narrative purposes instead of simply letting a scene play out. As a consequence, the story feels less engaging and more manufactured, taking away from the character study at the film’s core. Additionally, the parallel romances in How to Make a Killing speak to an imbalanced tone and structure. When Becket meets his cousin Noah’s girlfriend, Ruth (Jessica Henwick), love is in the air. There is a sparkling chemistry between Powell and Henwick that the camera catches onto and elevates. Their scenes are given the time to breathe and take shape. Both characters find something in each other that they had been missing: a genuine connection. The two seem to flourish together. Ruth also has a gradual evolution of maturity through her wardrobe, which transforms from casual to elegant. As the film’s beating heart, Henwick (who should be leading films) plays Ruth with a lively and grounded spirit. Contrasting Becket’s relationship with Ruth is his situationship with Julia (Margaret Qualley), a woman from his past. Having known each other as kids, Becket and Julia share some unfinished business. She embodies a femme fatale energy and has Becket wrapped around her finger, dangling a path towards wealth that he so deeply desires. She floats in and out of the film with a mysterious aura that shifts from teasing to threatening. Where Ruth sees the kindness in Becket, Julia sees the darkness he is capable of. The film misses an opportunity to really dig into how Becket and Julia operate as two sides of the same coin, both valuing power and conniving to get what they feel is owed to them. Julia’s role also could have been more effectively interwoven into the story. Saving the role from becoming forgettable, Qualley infuses an unpredictable energy that works well for Julia’s character, and does a fine job of clouding her motivations. She and Powell also share fun chemistry, enhanced by the playful camera framing. The film’s greatest strength, and loudest message, can be drawn from its final act. When Becket meets his grandfather, Whitelaw (Harris), their interaction twists the story into more intriguing territory and provides real dramatic stakes. With excellent narrative tension and great use of an atmospheric gothic mansion, the film builds anticipation for Becket approaching the final Redfellow standing in his way of the inheritance. While the two of them certainly go toe-to-toe, it’s Harris’s excellent monologue about moral dissonance and ignorance that steals the show. Whitelaw has reached an immense level of power because he let his conscience become a whisper, and his words haunt the conclusion that this film has in store for Becket. This final act is where John Patton Ford feels most attuned to the story he wants to tell. Part wry comedy, tragic character study, and realist crime drama, How to Make a Killing falls short of balancing these elements into one cohesive feature. The talented ensemble and standout final act make the film a worthwhile journey, but inconsistent storytelling choices undermine the film’s potential for a more in-depth narrative. How to Make a Killing arrives in theatres on February 20.
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 Charli xcx in The Moment Following the green-coated cultural phenomenon of Brat Summer, which took 2024 summer by storm, pop star Charli xcx is having another moment. She created the soundtrack album for Emerald Fennel’s hotly anticipated Wuthering Heights adaptation, which releases in theatres on February 13. Pete Ohs’ sapphic romance, Erupcja, which had its world premiere at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival and is led by a wonderful Charli performance, will be released in theatres later this year. But first, a mockumentary-style film that captures the Brat era, focusing on how the musician felt when her Brat album dominated pop culture. The Moment, from writer-director Aidan Zamiri and co-writer Bertie Brandes, morphs an original idea by Charli xcx into an absurd journey into fame, excess, and artistic integrity. Most impressively, the creative team distinguishes The Moment as a singular depiction of a pop star and avoids the trappings of a typical starry concert film. Whether you are familiar with Charli’s music or not, there is something incredibly intoxicating about how the film runs on pure emotion. While the satire doesn’t always bite, the story speaks effectively to losing sight of oneself in a dizzying celebrity machine. The Moment peels back the layers of a woman under the influence of capitalism to reach an introspective party girl at the core. The flashy opening scenes of The Moment set an authentic precedent for what the film has in store: an up-close and personal sense of what it’s like to be Charli xcx. Charli is introduced in her element of pure artistic expression and escapism. She appears completely present in the moment. It’s when other voices chime in that the artist’s decisions on how to present herself become the subject of scrutiny, capitalization, and chaos. The Moment revolves around Charli, playing an exaggerated version of herself, in the lead up to her first arena tour. On the cusp of touring the world with Brat, Charli dissects the end of an era before it even begins. When the album cycle ends, does that mean Brat summer will be over forever? How can she keep it going? What does she want to do next? As Charli’s creative team throw ideas to the wall, she retreats from her celebrity. The film excels at capturing how fans, labels, and brands interact with both Charli’s work and pop culture as a whole. There’s a rush to feel included in the momentum and have a say in what steps she ought to take for success. There’s an inclination from Charli’s team and show runners to be the “yes people” in her life and say what they think she wants to hear. Her manager, Tim (Jamie Demetriou) and social media manager Lloyd (Isaac Powell) keep their fingers on the pulse and navigate an upcoming Brat credit card launch, which highlights how companies capitalized on her album color and font. There’s constant pressure from her record label executive, Tammy (Rosanna Arquette), who swirls in and out of the film like a tornado consuming content. Then there’s Johannes Godwin (a hilarious Alexander Skarsgård), an intense director-for-hire whose arrival on the Brat tour disrupts Charli’s flow. Charli’s creative director and friend, Celeste (an excellent Hailey Benton Gates), cuts through the noise with the most grounded approach out of everyone. She understands Charli and brings a sense of clarity to the chaos, even when Charli herself doesn’t know what she wants. As Celeste struggles to hold onto creative control, Johannes dominates artistic choices for the show, and Charli takes an impulsive trip to Ibiza, the lifespan of Brat feels entirely out of reach. While in Ibiza, Charli runs into an ethereal Kylie Jenner (playing a heightened version of herself). The impeccable lighting on Kylie, juxtaposed with a discomforting angle on Charli, amplifies just how exhausted Charli feels being present in the moment. At the same time, it’s a pointed satire on pop culture and the responsibilities often placed on celebrities to lead their lives as role models for the masses. To a culture that sells fairytales with perfect lighting, The Moment works as a genius antithesis. By taking the concert documentary form and fictionalizing it, Charli successfully charts the ridiculousness of the music industry. By drawing self-deprecating humor from herself and exposing moments of vulnerability in her life, Charli effectively communicates how she sees the world. The entire film works as an inviting reflection of how she navigates fame and the music industry, and it builds towards a strong final act that sees her character face moral complexity. Additionally, Charli’s excellent performance resonates at the center. She brings compelling truthfulness to a heightened version of herself, and navigates peak levels of messy behavior to reach grounded moments. She also plays comedic moments brilliantly; part of the wry humor draws from simply watching her react to the most ridiculous scenarios. In a standout scene between her and Johannes, he suggests very questionable stage directions on how to engage with her audience. Charli and Skarsgård land on entertaining depictions of an astounding artistic disconnect. Thankfully, Aidan Zamiri and Bertie Brandes are totally connected to Charli’s energy, moving in lockstep with her wavelength. The film has a fun, relentlessly chaotic energy as though you’re at a never-ending party. For every sequence that relies on the viewer already having a strong connection with Charli’s artistry, there is one that also challenges the viewer’s perception of her public image and invites you to be curious. The film stands out as a bittersweet symphony of how Charli relates to success, navigates artistic integrity, and connects with her own failings in the process. The journey is messy in focus, but it’s easy to admire how The Moment experiments with the documentary form to radiate something that feels singular and deeply authentic to its subject. The Moment is now playing in theatres. |
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