
2025 · Ray Mendoza
A platoon of Navy SEALs embarks on a dangerous mission in Ramadi, Iraq, with the chaos and brotherhood of war retold through their memories of the event.
Good, I have a clear sense of the dossier format and tone. Now I'll write the Warfare dossier.
dir. Ray Mendoza · 2025
Warfare reconstructs a single harrowing day in Ramadi, Iraq in 2006, when a Navy SEAL platoon conducting urban overwatch was caught in a sustained insurgent ambush after occupying a family's home as a tactical position. The film is co-directed by Ray Mendoza — a SEAL who was present during the events — and Alex Garland, a collaboration that fuses testimonial authority with formal rigour in a way that has no real precedent in the American war film. Where most combat pictures impose dramatic shape on chaos after the fact, Warfare refuses narrative comfort: there is no mission accomplished, no redemptive arc, no score telling the audience how to feel. What remains is an act of witness — immersive, almost unbearably present, and morally unresolved — that places it in serious conversation with the small body of films that have genuinely extended the grammar of depicting modern war.
The film originates in an unusual act of institutional trust. A24, the independent studio that had already backed Alex Garland's Civil War (2024), agreed to a project in which a first-time co-director with no filmmaking credits would share equal authority over the work. Ray Mendoza's standing derived not from a professional resume but from the irreducible fact of having been there: he was part of the SEAL element whose experiences the film depicts, and he approached Garland with both the raw material and the insistence that any dramatisation honour the specifics of what actually happened rather than reach for generic tension.
The screenplay credits are shared between Garland and Mendoza, with the script building directly from Mendoza's recalled testimony and, reportedly, the memories of others in the unit. The filmmakers interviewed surviving members of the platoon as part of their research process, and the result is less a conventional narrative script than a staging document: a sequence of actions and sensations rather than dramatic beats. Specific details of the casting process are not exhaustively documented at this writing, but the ensemble — which includes Dylan O'Brien, Joseph Quinn, Cosmo Jarvis, Will Poulter, Michael Gandolfini, and Charles Melton among others — was assembled with evident attention to ensemble coherence over individual star power. The cast undertook intensive military preparation, with Mendoza guiding the performers through the physical and procedural realities of SEAL operations, including the micro-behaviours and communication patterns that lend the film much of its authority.
The film was produced on a budget that, while not publicly confirmed, sits within the range that A24 typically allocates for ambitious prestige productions. Unlike the large-scale military productions that lean on Department of Defence cooperation and access to active equipment and personnel, Warfare appears to have sourced its material through independent channels, consistent with a film whose portrait of the war makes no appeal to institutional approval.
The film was shot digitally, with the camera package and capture format chosen to support the observational, embedded aesthetic the directors pursued. The production recreated the Ramadi streetscape practically — reportedly shooting in the United Kingdom on purpose-built sets, though specific location details have not been exhaustively confirmed in the public record — with the design team working from photographic and video documentation of the actual neighbourhood where the events occurred.
Sound was clearly the primary technological investment and statement. The film's sound design was praised by critics as among the most rigorously realistic in contemporary war cinema: the acoustic signature of different weapons at different distances, the echo profiles of urban environments, the physical derangement of sustained fire — these are rendered with a precision that functions almost as argument. The film demands to be seen at high volume in a well-equipped theatre; on any smaller platform it loses a dimension of its meaning. The commitment to diegetic authenticity extends to radio communications, with the vocal protocols and abbreviated speech patterns of actual SEAL operations preserved throughout.
The directors of photography — specific crew credits at this writing are not fully established in the public record, and attributing particular choices to a named individual without confident documentation would be imprecise — worked within a visual grammar of deliberate restraint. The palette is sun-bleached and dusty, the light of Ramadi in autumn flattening colour and creating a visual environment that feels indifferent to the human drama unfolding within it. There are no expressionist choices: no dramatic shadows, no rain, no golden hour pathos. The camera operates close to the body, at eye-level or below, frequently struggling for sight-lines as the SEALs struggle for them, losing the overview that traditional war cinema uses to situate the audience spatially.
Where Saving Private Ryan (1998) used handheld destabilisation to simulate the chaos of combat while still maintaining the grammar of dramatic visibility — Spielberg's camera always found the relevant action — Warfare is less accommodating. The confusion on screen is not a technical simulation of chaos but an honest representation of limited perspective: you see what the person beside you sees, which is often a wall, a doorway, a face reacting to something off-frame.
The editing resists the rhythmic intensification that has become the default idiom of combat cinema since the late 1990s. Cuts do not arrive to punctuate action peaks; the tempo is relatively uniform, holding on duration in a way that forces the audience to sit inside situations rather than be propelled through them. This is the editing philosophy of United 93 (2006) taken further: Paul Greengrass still shaped his material toward cathartic release; Warfare holds back from that concession throughout. The effect is exhausting in the precise way that sustained stress is exhausting — the film does not let you rest by giving you the conventional signal that a sequence has resolved.
The staging is the film's deepest formal achievement. Combat choreography in most war films is a kind of kinetic choreography — figures moving in patterns that read legibly to the camera. Mendoza's experiential knowledge introduces a different logic: the SEALs move as they actually move, communicate as they actually communicate, and the camera does not compensate for the resulting illegibility. The occupied house — a real family's home, occupied in the film by an Iraqi family who become passive witnesses to the military operation consuming their domestic space — is used as a single continuous environment rather than a studio set dressed for maximum dramatic use.
The decision to include the Iraqi family within the action is a staging choice with significant ethical weight. Their presence is not explained or narrativised; they are simply there, as they were in reality, caught in a military operation they did not invite and cannot stop. No scene is devoted to their interiority; they are visible at the edges of the primary action, and this refusal to assimilate them into the Western narrative is one of the film's most considered moves.
The sound design functions as something between technical achievement and moral statement. The film presents an acoustic environment that is not heightened for drama but calibrated for accuracy — which turns out to be more disturbing than any conventional enhancement. The difference between the sound of fire coming in and fire going out, the specific timbre of different weapons, the auditory disorientation that follows sustained exposure, the voices on the radio, the silences: the sound mix makes audible claims about what this experience is that no visual element could sustain alone.
There is minimal underscoring, and what music exists is kept to the periphery of the experience. This absence is a position: the film refuses to tell audiences how to feel by removing the emotional instruction track that film scoring traditionally provides.
The ensemble cast performs within a mode best described as procedural inhabitation. The actors do not give performances in the theatrical sense — there are no speeches, few sustained close-ups for emotional display, no scenes constructed to showcase individual virtuosity. They have internalised the physical and cognitive vocabulary of the units they portray to the degree that the acting nearly disappears into behaviour. Dylan O'Brien's work is perhaps the most visible in the film's early passages, where a certain interiority is legible; as the situation deteriorates, that interiority is suppressed by necessity, which is itself the film's central observation about combat. Joseph Quinn and Cosmo Jarvis operate in the register of compressed affect — readable by accumulation rather than by any single expressive moment. The preparation under Mendoza's guidance evidently extended beyond physical conditioning into the micro-habits and communicative textures of unit life.
Warfare operates in a mode that is perhaps best described as reconstructive witness. The film's framing device — it is derived from the memories of the participants — is not deployed as conventional unreliable-narrator complexity, but as an epistemological position: this is what those who were there remember, no more and no less. There is no omniscient narrator, no before-and-after structure, no traditional rising action. The timeline is approximately real-time, compressed across a single operational period that begins with insertion and ends with evacuation.
The dramatic mode is closer to documentary staging than to dramatic narrative. Events are not organised toward revelation — there is no moment in which the meaning of the experience is disclosed. The film ends where it ends not because a story has concluded but because an operation has concluded, which is a different thing entirely. This places it in the tradition of films that resist the Aristotelian imposition of cause-and-effect dramaturgy on historical events — a tradition that includes United 93, Elephant (2003), and aspects of Tati — though Warfare is harder-edged and more singular in its context than any of these comparisons fully capture.
The film belongs most immediately to the post-9/11 procedural war film, a cycle that includes Blackhawk Down (2001), The Hurt Locker (2008), Zero Dark Thirty (2012), and Lone Survivor (2013). It shares with these films the commitment to depicting recent American military operations with granular specificity, the focus on special operations culture, and the partial displacement of political accountability in favour of experiential fidelity.
Within this cycle, Warfare is closest in spirit to The Hurt Locker in its formal ambition and most distant from it in its refusal of the lone-hero structure that Bigelow and screenwriter Mark Boal retained even within their procedural framework. Where Bigelow's Sergeant James is a figure of psychological study, Warfare distributes its attention across the ensemble and declines to single out any individual as the vessel for the film's meaning. The comparison to Act of Valor (2012) — which used actual active-duty SEALs — is superficially available but ultimately misleading: that film was a recruitment tool with action-movie grammar; Warfare is an anti-spectacle using the formal apparatus of prestige cinema.
The film also participates in the mid-2020s cycle of prestige war cinema associated with A24's ambitions in the genre, sitting in direct dialogue with Civil War (2024) while departing significantly from that film's speculative-fiction premise and more conventional dramatic architecture.
The co-directorial arrangement between Ray Mendoza and Alex Garland is functionally unusual and raises genuine questions about how authorship is distributed. Garland brought formal expertise, production infrastructure, and a working method developed across 28 Days Later (2002, where he worked as writer), Ex Machina (2014), Annihilation (2018), Men (2022), and Civil War (2024). His filmography shows a consistent interest in environments of extreme stress that expose the limits of human cognition and moral clarity. Mendoza brought something no amount of film knowledge could replicate: direct experiential authority over the material.
Garland has spoken in interviews about his role as deferring to Mendoza's testimony on all questions of what actually happened, while Mendoza deferred to Garland's expertise on how to film it. Whether this clean division held throughout production is impossible to verify from outside, but the film reads as a genuine collaboration rather than a vanity credit: the formal choices feel continuous with Garland's prior work, while the insistence on specificity and refusal of dramatic comfort feel anchored by someone whose primary obligation is to the real people being depicted.
The film's technical collaborators are not all exhaustively documented at this writing in sources available for confident attribution. Mendoza's role extended into the performance preparation in ways that blurred the line between technical consultant and director: he was simultaneously shaping what the actors did and verifying whether what they did was accurate.
Warfare sits squarely within the tradition of American war cinema, but its relationship to that tradition is one of sustained pressure rather than continuation. The major American war film from the mid-twentieth century onwards has been organised around the national myth of sacrifice with purpose — even the revisionist anti-war films of the Vietnam era (Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket, Platoon) retain a moral framework, a critique that depends on norms being violated. Warfare operates differently: it does not indict, it does not celebrate, it does not appear to understand the war as legible from within the experience it depicts.
This places it closer to the European tradition of observational war cinema — films such as Elem Klimov's Come and See (1985), which overwhelms rather than argues — while remaining firmly grounded in American operational specificity. The Iraqi family in the house introduces the perspective of the occupied civilian without deploying that perspective for Western guilt-processing, which is subtly but distinctly different from how such figures typically appear in American war films.
The film arrives in 2025, roughly twenty years after the events it depicts and more than a decade after the formal end of major American combat operations in Iraq. This temporal gap is meaningful: the events of 2006 Ramadi are now historical, removed from the immediate political controversies of the mid-2000s without being fully absorbed into the consensus historical narrative. The film neither re-litigates the decision to invade nor assesses the counterinsurgency strategy; it occupies the specific time of those who were there, for whom the war was not a policy question but a physical and moral fact.
The mid-2020s have seen a modest critical reassessment of Iraq War cinema, with the distance of two decades allowing the films produced during the conflict to be evaluated more dispassionately. Warfare participates in this moment while refusing its retrospective comfort.
The film's dominant preoccupation is the relationship between memory and experience — between what happened and what can be recalled, reconstructed, and communicated. The framing of the project as a recovery of testimony acknowledges from the outset that what the audience sees is mediated by the limitations of traumatic recall. This is not treated as a problem to be solved narratively; it is the film's subject as much as its context.
Brotherhood — the specific bond formed under conditions of shared mortal risk — is present throughout, though the film treats it as a given rather than a discovery. The SEALs are not learning to trust one another; they already trust one another, and this trust is the precondition of every action, not its dramatic reward. The civilian cost of the operation is represented without commentary and without resolution: the Iraqi family is in the film, and the film ends without telling us what happened to them, which is both accurate to what Mendoza's unit knew at the time and morally instructive about the limits of the soldier's perspective.
The film raises, without directly addressing, the question of what it means to represent violence with precision. Its refusal of sentiment is not indifference; it is an argument that the most honest form of witness to these events is the one that does not reach for emotional resolution.
Critical reception. Warfare received strongly positive critical notices, with consistent praise directed at its technical rigour — particularly the sound design — and its refusal of conventional war-film dramaturgy. Some critics questioned whether the film's abstention from political context constitutes a formal virtue or an evasion; this debate tracks the reception of Zero Dark Thirty (2012) and reflects the persistent difficulty of evaluating works that prioritise experiential fidelity over moral positioning. Detailed box-office figures and award results are not available for citation at this writing.
Influences on the film (backward). The debts are primarily to The Hurt Locker (2008) — procedural precision, de-romanticised combat, special-operations focus — and to Ridley Scott's Black Hawk Down (2001), which established the template for depicting the mechanics of contemporary urban combat at sustained length. Paul Greengrass's United 93 (2006) is perhaps the closest formal ancestor: the real-time structure, the ensemble of actors playing identified real individuals, the commitment to operational specificity over dramatic manipulation. Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan (1998) is the unavoidable reference point for physical immersion in combat, though Warfare is in certain respects a critique of that film's residual sentimentality. The non-Western tradition includes Klimov's Come and See, whose overwhelming sensory assault informs the sound philosophy if not the visual grammar. Garland's own Civil War (2024) established the immediate studio and collaborator context, and the two films share a commitment to depicting violence without heroising it, though Civil War's speculative premise gives it a different relationship to political allegory.
Legacy and forward influence. It is too early at this writing to assess the film's downstream influence with confidence. Its most likely legacy lies in the domain of sound design — the argument it makes for acoustic realism as a primary carrier of meaning in combat cinema will be difficult to ignore for subsequent filmmakers working in the genre. The co-directorial model, which positions experiential authority alongside formal expertise rather than subordinating one to the other, may prove generative as war cinema grapples with the ethical questions of who is authorised to tell particular stories. Whether Warfare achieves the canonical status of The Hurt Locker within the procedural war cycle will depend in part on how subsequent criticism situates its refusal of moral resolution — a refusal that some will read as the film's greatest honesty and others as its most significant limitation.
Lines of influence