An entertaining lead and a sly premise drive John Patton Ford’s film, but the movie rarely follows through on promises of dark comedy or biting social commentary
How to Make a Killing opens as a glossy entry in the recent wave of films probing wealth and privilege. Writer-director John Patton Ford frames a revenge-driven plot around Becket Redfellow, portrayed by Glen Powell. The film begins with Redfellow in a cell, delivering an extended voiceover that outlines his origins and grievances.
The voiceover balances mischief and melancholy while establishing motive and tone. The device sets a deliberate contrast between Redfellow’s charming, ever-present smirk and the darker impulses that drive the story. The film signals from the outset that it seeks to be both sharp and entertaining.
As a former chef turned critic I favour sensory openings. The palate never lies, and here the movie’s surface sheen tastes of calculated excess. Behind every character there is a story of entitlement and consequence, and Ford stages that story with confident, stylized restraint.
Behind every character there is a story of entitlement and consequence, and Ford stages that story with confident, stylized restraint. The film’s tonal center rests on Powell’s performance and on how he performs identity. Wearing casual, deliberately curated garments and adopting a soft-boy aesthetic, the protagonist uses modern affectations as social camouflage. The visual shorthand — beanie, camera slung over the shoulder, a casual demeanor — signals a character attuned to optics and to the power of disarming attention.
The palate never lies: texture and seasoning reveal intentions as clearly as dialogue. As a critic who once trained as a chef, I note how small surface details in the film function like seasoning. They create an initial flavor that masks a deeper, more corrosive taste. That layered presentation of masculinity is one of the film’s more interesting choices, even when the script does not always test it to its limits.
The narrative moves with brisk energy. Scenes accelerate the plot through calculated set pieces and tidy reveals. Editing favors momentum over reflection, which sustains interest but reduces emotional resonance.
Action and scheming advance the story efficiently. Yet the film often leaves a lingering emptiness where psychological depth could sit. Character motivations are sketched sharply but rarely excavated. As a result, some sequences register as clever rather than affecting.
Technically, the film is precise. Cinematography and wardrobe reinforce the protagonist’s social camouflage. Sound design punctuates key moments with crisp punctuation. These elements heighten style and satirical bite, but they also underscore the work’s ambivalence about sympathy and consequence.
Where the film succeeds is in its surface intelligence and controlled tone. Where it falters is in converting that intelligence into sustained interiority. The result is a polished satire that gestures toward moral complexity without fully inhabiting it.
The result is a polished satire that gestures toward moral complexity without fully inhabiting it. The film keeps a brisk pace. A punchy score and montage-editing sustain momentum through many sequences. That kinetic energy suggests the film could land sharper blows. For long stretches, however, it substitutes surface flair for sustained consequence. The effect is an entertaining ride rather than a searing indictment of privilege.
Supporting performers supply much of the film’s emotional ballast. They seize small moments and convert them into revealing character beats. Scenes that might have read as mere style become textured through precise, restrained work. A handful of secondary roles deliver the clearest moral signals the screenplay often withholds.
Vocally and physically the ensemble finds contrast with the leads. Subtle shifts in posture or tone expose fractures within the film’s social milieu. Those choices ground otherwise glancing set pieces and give the satire intermittent teeth. In several sequences the supporting cast turns near-misses into quietly devastating observations.
The palate never lies, and here the supporting work provides the film’s most honest flavors. Behind every moment of wit there is craft: calibrated timing, effective underplaying, and a feel for tonal counterpoint. As a former chef I learned to read texture and balance; the same instincts clarify why these performances register long after a gag fades.
As a former chef I learned to read texture and balance; the same instincts clarify why these performances register long after a gag fades. The palate never lies, and here the supporting cast supplies the salt and acid the script sometimes lacks. Where the screenplay undercuts its intentions, the Redfellow clan provides color and bite through sharply drawn caricatures.
The ensemble leans into deliberate exaggeration: a self-styled artist who trades authenticity for affect, a televangelist entangled in questionable finances, and a procession of trustafarian archetypes aimed at the protagonist’s milieu. Actors such as Zach Woods and Topher Grace turn those types into memorable showpieces with precise timing and specific physical choices. Their work often outshines the lead without destabilizing the film’s tone. Margaret Qualley offers a cool, femme fatale presence while Jessica Henwick supplies a moral counterpoint; together they sketch the opposing paths available to the central character and clarify his choices even when they do not fundamentally complicate them.
Powell delivers a magnetic performance built more on likability than moral ambiguity. His technique favors a curated vulnerability: an outward softness that masks calculation. The role rarely requires him to register genuine menace.
The screenplay keeps the protagonist’s inner life at arm’s length. That narrative distance reduces the film’s violent moments to schematic elements. Murders play like puzzle pieces in a game, not actions with heavy emotional fallout.
The effect alters audience engagement. Viewers can admire the craftsmanship and charisma on screen while remaining unconvinced by the brutality the plot demands. As a former chef I learned that texture and balance matter; here tone and depth determine whether violence tastes authentic.
The palate never lies… Behind every dish there’s a story, and behind each character choice the film hints at supply chains of motive and consequence. This story maps possible paths for the central figure but rarely complicates them in ways that register as moral weight.
This story maps possible paths for the central figure but rarely complicates them in ways that register as moral weight. The film favors restraint over spectacle. Most violent outcomes occur offscreen or are staged with a wink. That choice reduces shock and amplifies craft. It will frustrate viewers who expect the ferocity of cutting satires. It will reward those who value character work and meticulous production design.
The film is a deliberate piece of workmanship. Direction and design prioritize tone and texture over visceral impact. Offscreen violence and tongue-in-cheek staging soften the horrors that drive the plot. The result is less a savage satire than a character-driven caper with a polished surface.
The palate never lies: the film tastes of restraint and refinement rather than raw outrage. As a former chef I learned that restraint can reveal subtle flavors. Here that technique foregrounds performances and visual detail. It also narrows the film’s emotional bandwidth.
Why this matters is clear. A satire that eschews gruesome spectacle invites a different set of responses. It asks audiences to read nuance and to attend to craft. For some, that yields satisfying complexity. For others, the muted approach will feel like a missed opportunity for moral bite.
Behind every choice is an aesthetic intention. The filmmakers appear to prefer style as commentary. That stance produces real pleasures — careful staging, tonal control, and actors who inhabit small moral fractures. It also risks alienating viewers seeking the kind of searing social critique delivered by more aggressive films.
Expect responses to divide along those lines. Critics and audiences who prize refinement will find reasons to praise. Those who seek sharper social teeth may deem the film a stylistic misfire. The final judgement will hinge on which cinematic appetite the viewer brings to the screening.
The final judgement will hinge on which cinematic appetite the viewer brings to the screening. How to Make a Killing is a film of contrasts: a commanding lead performance, sharp supporting turns, and a clear visual and sonic identity that propel the narrative. It underuses its premise, however, and softens the political teeth of an eat-the-rich concept into a polished cautionary tale. The film works best as a showcase for style and charisma; it struggles to sustain itself as a full-bodied satire or a convincing thriller. As a former chef I learned that seasoning matters; the palate never lies, and here style often seasons but does not supply the essential bite. For viewers who prize atmosphere and performance, the film will register as a pleasant, neatly crafted experience. For those seeking a darker sting or a more daring social critique, it registers as a missed opportunity.