Thrillingly stripped back and bloody Greek tragedy
10 / 10
Three-and-a-half hours whip by, crowned by a coup in the epilogue: suddenly Stone reminds us that all this juicy violence we’ve been enjoying as spectacle – bloody hand-prints on the pristine glass, Stanley knives shoved into guts – stands in for the scenes of brutality playing out in the world’s many war zones. That visceral thrill turns to queasy sucker punch. House Middleton becomes a metaphor for any race of people stuck in a cycle of retributive violence. No deus ex machinas here. It’s all too painfully human, a reminder that we’re the sowers of all this violence, and the reapers too.
