Glen Powell’s new movie, How to Make a Killing, is being marketed as a dark comedy—but you will not laugh once during this flat, soulless endeavor. Writer-director John Patton Ford makes the fatal error of playing things uncomfortably straight, and the result is a mixed-up snoozefest.
Powell plays Beckett Redfellow, son of a young mother whose family shamed her after a teen pregnancy and exiled her to New Jersey. Beckett learns at a young age that he’s technically in line for a large inheritance, but a bunch of people must die before he gets his billions. After the death of his young mom (Nell Williams), the adolescent Beckett is super-angry at his family—and this sets the stage for murderous shenanigans when he grows up.
The movie is told in flashback as Beckett sits on death row, giving his confession to a priest (Adrian Lukis). Beckett tells us the story is a tragedy—and given how much talent and promise is wasted in this lifeless project, he’s correct.
As shared in the story over his last meal, Beckett starts picking off his cousins and uncles in dull ways involving drowning, poisoning, etc. Various victims are played as down-to-earth or, at the worst, slightly annoying, making their deaths seem anything but hilarious.
So … the movie tries to justify the awful things Beckett does, rather than simply relying upon the innate charms of Powell to make Beckett somewhat likable while he’s doing bad things. I felt pretty terrible watching this movie about a guy killing all of his relatives for money, because the film is grounded in a sort-of reality. If you are going to make this kind of movie a comedy, you need to go completely over-the-top.
A decent cast includes Margaret Qualley as a devious childhood friend who poses difficulties for Beckett, Ed Harris as the Redfellows’ elder statesman, Topher Grace as a televangelist Redfellow, Bill Camp as the lone likable Redfellow, and Zach Woods as an almost-likable Redfellow. They all labor in a film that has no idea what it really wants to be.
Making a funny movie about killing people seems terrible to begin with, but it can be done in a way that doesn’t leave the beholder feeling bad about laughing at bad things. Heathers (1989) is the ultimate murder/comedy satire, an example of how to do this sort of thing right. Characters played by Winona Ryder and Christian Slater start killing all of their classmates in horrible ways, and it somehow comes together as very funny and disturbing at the same time. Heathers thrived upon a devilish satire motif that never let up from the first frame; the film committed to its depravity, and pulled it off. You wound up not completely hating Ryder and Slater, even though their characters are maniacs.
Yes, it’s a hard balance to find—making a murderous rampage funny—but if you can’t make it funny, then don’t make the film a comedy. Hell, don’t make it at all. Let Powell go make another rom-com or Top Gun sequel or a movie about mischievous goats. There’s no reason to make him waste his time on a movie that can’t commit to the vibe it needs.
How to Make a Killing is stuck in a tonal dead zone for its entire running time—and Glen Powell’s smiling face can’t help it escape.