Alex Garland, known for cerebral, genre-bending films like Ex Machina and Civil War, has joined forces with former Navy SEAL Ray Mendoza to deliver a different kind of war film—one rooted in raw authenticity. Their latest project, Warfare, opens not with gunfire or heavy drama, but with a cheeky punchline: Eric Prydz’s 2004 club hit “Call on Me” blares through the speakers as a group of soldiers laugh and holler at its now-infamous, hyper-sexualized music video. They’re crammed around a laptop screen in a military barracks near Baghdad. For a moment, they could be any group of young men on spring break. The next explosive boom, however, will be no punchline.
The film, drawn directly from Mendoza’s lived experience and the memories of his unit, tells the story of a 2006 mission in Ramadi, Iraq, that went terribly wrong. What began as a standard surveillance operation ended with Mendoza and his team under siege in a safe house, isolated, and fighting for their lives without the usual support. Garland and Mendoza strip away the tropes of traditional war films—no swelling orchestras, no grandiose heroism. What they offer instead is a lean, harrowing 95-minute immersion in chaos, confusion, and camaraderie.
The cast is a who’s-who of rising stars: Charles Melton, Will Poulter, Joseph Quinn, Noah Centineo, Kit Connor, and Reservation Dogs breakout D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, who plays Mendoza. But in Warfare, these familiar faces aren’t treated as heartthrobs or movie stars. Instead, they are components of a larger machine—interchangeable, selfless, and focused. It’s a deliberate choice. According to Garland, the film’s script was less about plot and more about re-creating the experience. “It became a forensic reconstruction,” he explained. “We had to piece together memories—sometimes partial or conflicting—and build a timeline of what actually happened.”
Their guiding rule was simple: only show what truly occurred. This constraint led to a film stripped of exposition or emotional hand-holding. Characters speak in dense military shorthand that’s often incomprehensible to civilian ears. One moment, a soldier genuinely asks, “Is he peeking or probing?”—a line that’s both technical and oddly comic. But that confusion is intentional. Warfare is less interested in explaining war than in plunging the viewer into its rhythms.
For Mendoza, the film is personal. Too many war movies, he believes, are made by people who haven’t seen combat. “A lot of the portrayals don’t connect with veterans,” he said. “They might look slick, but we end up saying, ‘That’s not how we talk,’ or ‘That’s not how we behave under stress.’” To combat that disconnect, Mendoza ran a rigorous three-week bootcamp for the actors in the UK before filming began. They trained in weapons handling, radio communication, tactical movement, and battlefield first aid.
The actors were all in. “Ray is a hell of a teacher,” said Cosmo Jarvis, who plays Elliot Miller, a central figure to whom the film is dedicated. Will Poulter added that the training gave them both technical skills and emotional cohesion. “We built this deep bond during bootcamp. That closeness translated on screen.” Melton echoed the sentiment: “It was 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day—meals together, training together. No trailers, just total immersion.”
While Warfare is only 95 minutes long, it doesn’t rush into battle. That pacing is deliberate. “Most war movies try to keep every moment exciting,” said Joseph Quinn, who plays Sam. “But the reality is there’s a lot of waiting, boredom, and downtime. Then, suddenly, everything changes.” The movie leans into this contrast, capturing how quickly a quiet room can turn into a war zone.
When violence erupts, it’s not stylized or heroic—it’s brutal and brief. The psychological impact lingers long after the last shot is fired. Quinn described one pivotal moment involving his character: “There was this shared intimacy. We were all in the room. It was traumatic, but it also brought us together in a strange, beautiful way.”
For Mendoza, the film was not just a retelling—it was therapeutic. “The war may be over, but we still carry it,” he said. “The tools I relied on in the military didn’t always help me once I came home. Making this film gave me a new way to process that.” Transitioning into storytelling, he added, has been healing.
One of the most sobering takeaways from Warfare is its reminder of who actually fights these wars: young people. Kit Connor, who plays a member of the unit, pointed out, “I was 20 when we shot this. I’d just turned 21. I looked younger than most of the actors you usually see playing soldiers—but I was the same age as the real guys.” It’s a jarring reality check.
Garland, meanwhile, bristles at suggestions that Warfare is trying to send a political message. When asked what he hoped audiences might learn about the Iraqi people from the film, he responded firmly: “This isn’t about delivering a message. We’re not trying to moralize. We’re just presenting the facts as clearly and honestly as we can.”
Still, the film ends on a quieter, almost spiritual note—a final scene that offers a sliver of grace after an unrelenting experience. It leaves a lasting emotional mark. For the actors, that bond extended off-screen. Many of them got matching “Call on Me” tattoos, a nod to the song that played during their fictional downtime—and a symbol of the brotherhood they built in real life.
Charles Melton was first to show his ink, placed on his left thigh. D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai revealed his was in the same spot. Will Poulter, initially without one, vowed to get it done within 24 hours. True to his word, he joined his castmates shortly after. For them, this wasn’t just a film about brotherhood—it became a real one.
Warfare opens in theaters in the US and UK on April 11. It’s not a movie that glorifies war. It doesn’t aim to entertain so much as to immerse, to inform, and, above all, to remember.
