By Jamie Tram
Like Michael Mann (Heat) and Paul Schrader (First Reformed), the work of director Justin Kurzel can largely be characterised as variations on the same, recurring theme. Drawing upon true crime, national myths and Shakespeare, his films have continually fed into an ongoing interrogation of disturbed, white men and their path to radicalisation.
It's a challenging creative trajectory to pull off; at what point does iteration become stagnation — or worse, self-parody?
Kurzel's last film, Nitram, hewed dangerously close to the latter. Despite purposefully omitting Martin Bryant's name and the Port Arthur massacre from the proceedings, it nonetheless elevated its infamous subject with its bellowing, portentous miserabilism. Artfully shot and forcefully acted, it played to the taste of global film festival juries without offering a shred of psychological insight.
Thankfully, The Order marks a return to form for one of Australia's foremost filmmakers, who flexes a fine-tuned genre sensibility in this explosive cat-and-mouse game between a raggedy FBI agent and a neo-Nazi terrorist in the 1980s.
Jude Law magnificently radiates 'divorced dad' energy as Terry Husk, a bureau operative with a fierce moustache who relocates to Idaho in search of some inner peace.
As the kind of cop who goes deer hunting in his downtime, it doesn't take long for him to sniff out the oncoming race war brewing in the Northwest, signposted by the numerous Aryan Nation flyers plastered around town.
While the old guard of the Nation favour a more discreet, long-term strategy to overthrowing the government — "In 10 years, we'll have members in congress," its leader assures — a younger cohort of followers have broken off to ignite the revolution with violent zeal.
The new organisation, calling themselves The Order, have started hitting up local banks in a streak of armed heists, amassing millions of dollars before Husk manages to catch on.
Familiar hallmarks of cops-and-robbers cinema are intriguingly re-contextualised by the film's focus on white nationalism; it goes without saying that the film's resurgence of Nazis amid a wave of economic grievance feels depressingly timely.
In this genre, there's usually more fun to be had identifying with the charismatic crooks and their pursuit of big-time scores, rather than the grizzled lawmen who believe that the sanctity of insured megabanks is worth shedding blood for. Law enforcement tends to be depicted as serving a rigged justice system that will crack down on small-time thieves while protecting the ill-gotten gains of the rich and powerful; who wouldn't want to turn those tables?
The Order's founder, Bob Matthews (portrayed by Nicholas Hoult with an assured intensity), persuasively exploits those real inequities to recruit followers for his cause; his latest convert isn't even a white man, but a discontented Mexican American keen to overthrow a government who, in his eyes, has privileged other racial minorities over hard-working Americans.
Hoult's recent villainous roles, however entertaining, have threatened to wear out his arrogant, twitchy energy; here, he portrays Matthews as an uncanny rendition of traditional American masculinity, pushed to the edge with an unmistakeable chill. It's an engrossing about-face from his last Kurzel role as Kelly Gang's Constable Fitzpatrick.
Paired once again with cinematographer Adam Arkapaw, Kurzel zeros in on the fascist fantasy of a prelapsarian America; the wide compositions beckon towards an abundant landscape of ethereal woodlands, crystalline lakes and fields yawning into infinity.
When violence erupts, it does so in swift, thunderous bursts. Bullets don't just pierce flesh — they mangle clothing, splinter wood and kick up dust, lending weight and texture to gunfights. The action tends to be more economical than flashy, trading elaborate camera movements for precise compositions, such as an assassination captured through the window of a car, or the high-angle slaughter of hapless armoured gunmen.
It's the kind of pounding, no-frills crowd-pleaser that should be tearing up a big screen, with Jed Kurzel's thrumming electronic score played loud. Despite its overseas theatrical rollout, however, local audiences will have to make do with streaming The Order online.
Like the rom-com and adult drama, the crime thriller is a genre in crisis. So long as mid-budget movies are routinely dumped on streaming services alongside shows that are actively designed to be ignored, audiences will perceive them as being less worth their attention and money.
The Order still plays like gangbusters at home — but in the middle of summer, nothing hits like watching sweaty alcoholics, vehicular heists and Nazi hunting in an air-conditioned theatre.
First published at ABC News, February 9, 2025
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