I like Guy Ritchie’s movies, and I want to root for him at every turn. Even if the picture itself is more run of the mill than befitting his talents.
Such is the case with The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare. A film with plenty of good acting that never settles for the right tone. It’s too sombre and po-faced to be a British version of Inglorious Basterds. Yet it’s also too glib to be The Guns of Navarone. The story is a patchwork of fact and fiction, spun together from unearthed documents of clandestine World War II missions. The reality is stranger than fiction: In the midst of the war, a group of untraditional agents set out behind enemy lines to sabotage Nazi U-boats to stop their reign of terror. History tells us of the outcome, but not how we got there. In theory, The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare has a goldmine of material at its disposal.
But calling this a historical picture is pushing it. While the characters share names with their historic counterpart, they might as well be entirely fictional. They look like a modelling agency’s idea of warfare; you could create academic papers on how absurdly hot everyone is. Even as they’re carving the hearts out of Nazi scum, the movie makes sure to catch them at a good light.
Which is weird, then, that the film never lets them have any real fun. Sure, it flirts with the idea, especially in an early raid into a Nazi compound. But it pulls back just as quickly, and settles for a weird halfway point that’s neither here nor there. There’s a lot of pleasure in seeing Alan Ritchson gleefully mow down Nazi’s in a shirt that’s a few sizes too small for him. Less so when the film slows down for politics back at the Homefront.
The film is peppered with great characters actors, most of whom get very little to do. Which is fine, to an extent, as they’re so charming the story coasts along on that alone. Henry Cavill continues to prove he’s more than a pretty face, and his easygoing charm plays well with a devilish sense of self-destructiveness. He and Danny Sapani share a softly spoken past, and in another film you can imagine they’d go off on sassy adventures together. At times, I wish this was that film.
The ever-reliable Til Schweiger is delightfully evil as the designated Nazi stooge, though he gets even less to do than he did in Inglorious Basterds. Between him and Thomas Kretchmann, I wonder who has played the same part more often. Nevertheless, it’s a joy watching him and Babs Olusanmokun trade barbs as they measure each other up. These parts, where everyone speaks in code, and everyone knows the other is lying, are easily the highlights of the film. They showcase the wit and style that Ritchie built his career on, and there’s an exuberance to the illusion. Once the action starts, it all becomes far more run of the mill.
The last half of the film, some 40 minutes of it, is nothing but action. If that sounds like too much, that’s because it is. Even Guy Ritchie can’t come up with enough ways to make a gunfight interesting with shallow characters. The act of firing a gun isn’t compelling; it’s who and the why that keeps us coming back for more. A dapper Henry Cavill shooting Nazis is a bit that works in small doses. After a while you hit diminishing returns.
I wasn’t bored by The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare, but I can’t say I was thrilled by it, either. It came and went, and did its job with professionalism. That’s about all I can ask for from a film like this, and it feels greedy to want for more. But Ritchie is capable of better things, and his cast is certainly up to the task. Why not go that extra mile?