Review: One Battle After Another (2025) — The Revolution Will Be Cinema

★★★★★

“That’s heavy metal, bro.”

Bottling the chaos of our age, in all its absurdity, tragedy, fear, courage, posturing, violence and shock, seems like an impossible feat for a filmmaker. Something between the playfulness of Spike Lee’s BlacKkKlansman, the fierce heart of Shaka King’s Judas and the Black Messiah, the thrills and horror of Alex Garland’s Civil War and the biting to chilling satire of Ari Aster’s Eddington would be needed — with enough tonal shifts to risk spinning our heads into repulsion. Of course PT Anderson would take a stab at this. And of course he would make it compelling as hell.

Inspired by Thomas Pynchon’s novel Vineland, One Battle After Another presents a barely alternate present of melded military/police forces, underground revolutionaries and loony to evil fascist control. Into this PTA somehow manages to layer an Against the Man flick akin to 70s exploitation, a razor-precise thriller inspiring goosebumps and edge of your seat(ing), a restrained to explosive Strangeloveian bash piece and a heartfelt tale of family and human contradiction — while remaining remarkably cohesive for just about every second of that 162 minute runtime.

Not every character or moment is given depth, and there are a few instances of overt cartooning (if only we could pit Eddington’s Antifa against the “Hail Saint Nick!”-greeting white supremacists of the Christmas Adventurers Club here). But the achievement in keeping us engaged and entertained while firing jabs at the left and missiles at the right, ultimately settling on a message of love and resistance, is overall stunning — offering that rare hybrid of personal statement and pure cinema.

Leonardo DiCaprio headlines the film wonderfully as passionate bomber turned chronically high on the lam(er) turned endearingly disheveled papa bear on a mission “Ghetto” Pat Calhoun/Comrade Bob Ferguson. A legend in the French 75 far-left guerrilla group, Bob’s political piety is cut nicely by his messiness and frazzled sincerity. How Leo plays Bob’s lame to sweet dad and revolutionary vibes carries OBAA’s humor and affection alike — giving us a hero who accepts fatherhood and predicament but who also struggles to peel his stoned ass off the couch from Battle of Algiers, remember code phrases or do really anything productive.

The more Smiley Face aspects of Bob’s odyssey had me rolling. Especially adore his extremely relatable Kafkacratic nightmare of a phone conversation with Comrade Josh, and every single scene he has with Sensei Sergio. As the latter Benicio del Toro shines as always, injecting deadpan comedy and get shit done substance into the background of Bob’s Sisyphean shenanigans. The leader of an undocumented community, Sergio is cool, resourceful and proficient in contrast to Bob’s pitiful anti-action.

Have to admire PTA’s dive, however brief, into multiple facets of revolutionaries.

Bob’s partner in the French 75 and lover Perfidia Beverly Hills is written and played superbly, Teyana Taylor’s first act performance covering the combative to communal energy that make movements and also the selfishness, conflict, confusion and betrayal that burn them to the ground. Perfidia’s complexity in living her own life of freedom and danger, having a murky affair with the group’s nemesis Col. Steven J. Lockjaw that results in Bob’s adopted daughter Charlene/Willa and her eventual abandonment of all parties, paints her as neither hero or villain — but the flesh and blood between; as real in her initial ideology and commitment as her later doubts, self-interest, treason and regret.

This is contrasted by Regina Hall’s steadfast and competent Deandra; again quietly battling oppression and violence as grand theatrics and stupidity take the main focus. Also really dig small yet memorable appearances in the 75 by Wood Harris, Paul Grimstad, Alana Haim and Junglepussy (as Junglepussy, fuck yeah) — bouncing back and forth between grindhouse splendor and Costa-Gavras suspense.

OBAA’s most interesting characterizations, in pen and performance, are none of the above though. This film arguably belongs to its central opposing figures — Willa and Lockjaw.

As our young, steel-eyed, classic leather jacket/skirt/combat boot combo heroine, Chase Infiniti is more than emblematic of the kick-ass catharsis so many of us are eager for nowadays. Yet her portrayal leans into the vulnerability and havoc that exist painfully outside the frame, matching intelligence, toughness and bravery with the horrifying fight for survival faced by anyone who speaks or acts boldly against the system; one all too often ending in blood across the pavement or, as the movie implies, plastic-lined rooms.

Willa is less a left-wing military messiah than a very personal and human brightness; her rugged empathy and exit on a particular song all but PTA’s middle-aged dadly hope for the future. And honestly, I couldn’t love it more.

Exactly her opposite is Sean Penn’s bizarre in all the right ways everyman of fascism. Macho and self-sensitive, idiotic and powerful, craving what he openly condemns yet wanting status considerably more, Lockjaw is a vacant and lethal conformist somewhere betwixt Strangelove’s Buck Turgidson and Jack D. Ripper in aura. If such a thing as a reserved caricature can exist, Penn nails it here — gifting him with the year’s most iconic haircut and walk while speaking to plenty below the surface in insecure facial tics and mournful eyes.

The Colonel never invites us in, and it’s evident PTA has no interest in his humanity. What’s hinted at it with his journey to being a half-melted G.I. Joe, left alone in an office to soak in that acceptance into the old rich racist Christmas club, is nonetheless intriguing. Make of the finale connections between this and Eddington what you will. I actually like the dialed to 11 nihilism of Aster’s a bit better, despite enjoying OBAA far more as a movie.

PTA’s script has so much going on at once you’d be tempted to call it a miracle of unity, until you realize he had more than adequate training on Boogie Nights and Magnolia.

The on the ground guerrilla mischief and formation/fracture of family in the first act could be its own flick — and a banger one at that. Ditto for Lebowski era Bob and the pursuit of Lockjaw in the middle acts, and the utterly phenomenal tension of the final act. Stitched together with groovy tunes, Jonny Greenwood’s heavy to stylish to devastating score and DP Michael Bauman’s VistaVirtuosity, they’re a patchwork masterpiece — minor blemishes quickly covered by the collective feeling of dismay and optimism this film gives you.

A definite winner for Anderson, and just maybe his gateway to that Golden Nekkid Humanoid.

Side note —
My god, that desert car chase. Had me sweating all the more given I frequently drive a road not unlike that one, and have been paranoid of dip and rise elevation blindspots for going on 20 years now. Let me tell ya, they do indeed fuck people up exactly like that.

Where to watch One Battle After Another.

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