“The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” comes right out the gate with typical Guy Ritchie bravado.
The story, based on Damian Lewis’ book about a real group of secret operatives who worked behind enemy lines during World War II, begins on a fishing boat in 1942. When Nazi forces board the seemingly innocuous vessel, they immediately clock the men aboard as much too handsome, much too cool, and much too large to be run-of-the-mill fisherman – this is a Guy Ritchie movie, after all.
The men are Gus March-Phillipps (Henry Cavill) and Anders Lassen (Alan Ritchson), and they allow the Nazi commander to deliver an impassioned speech about how, exactly, he plans to kill them before they slice and shoot up the invaders with glee, blowing up the boat they came from for good measure. Ungentlemanly as they may be, there’s a sense of propriety to their utter lack of decorum – a swiftness to their action, a calmness to their madness, and a respect for each other if not for authority of any kind. No matter how “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” may unfold moving forward, this opening scene gives the audience a quick understanding of how these men operate in relation to each other, their chemistry the film’s immediate draw.
Gus and Anders are joined by Freddy Alvarez (Henry Golding), Henry Hayes (Hero Fiennes Tiffin) and later Geoffrey Appleyard (Alex Pettyfer) before setting off on a loose retelling of Operation Postmaster, hoping to sink (literally) the German U-boat apparatus keeping the U.S. from crossing the Atlantic and joining the war. This ragtag crew was put together by none other than Winston Churchill (Rory Kinnear) himself in the hopes that a group of agents operating outside of the purview of normal warfare might give the Allies a leg up – even if that means using ex-cons and loose cannons to do it.
As exciting as that all sounds, when all is said and done, the secret mission at the core of “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” doesn’t necessarily come across as dangerous as it certainly must have been in real life. The ability of this small, eccentric bunch to take on legions of Nazis and come out unscathed is on the level of superheroes, leading to a much more straightforward adventure than one might expect. But, as with many a Guy Ritchie movie, “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” lives and dies by its ensemble of handsome men – and despite their superhuman skill and the film’s ragged edges, this group is charming enough to keep you entertained.
In more ways than one, “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” feels like Cavill’s audition for James Bond (between this and “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.,” one could argue that Ritchie is the one leading that particular charge). Gus is perfectly cool and collected, barely showing more than a morsel of light annoyance or concern in the face of grave danger, the ideal mix of British geniality and brute force. But beyond that, Cavill is having a great deal of fun.
When Gus is introduced to the British officers leading up the recruitment effort for the team (including one Ian Fleming, played by Freddie Fox), Cavill gives you everything you need to know about Gus solely through his physicality. When offered some tea, Gus silently implores Brigadier Gubbins (Cary Elwes) to allow him some scotch instead. While Gubbins fills Gus in on the plan, Gus throws winking little glances at him while he proceeds to take Gubbins’ scotch, cigars, and finally, his own coat, all the while giving the impression of asking for permission while clearly not caring about the answer. This is a man who has skated by on charisma his entire life, someone who, despite flying by the seat of his pants most of the time, is always in control.
The rest of Gus’ little crew work on their own merit to varying degrees – Ritchson is the best, as like to flirt with you as skin you alive, while Pettyfer is the most underutilized (the first 30 minutes of the film are devoted to extracting his character, Appleyard, from a Nazi prison camp, and yet the character never lives up to the importance that heist gives him). Together, though, they form a cohesive group that a movie like this needs, a band of misfits you can’t help but like. Sometimes, that band of misfits earns your goodwill through the hardship they’ve endured. But hardship is not a motivating luxury these guys are afforded – no, they’ll earn your affection through sheer force of charisma.
If the group works better as a whole than as its separate parts, the movie functions inversely. Outside of a few action set pieces, “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” begins to fray at the edges, the holes in its connective tissue becoming more pronounced the further we get away from that core group of guys. Two other agents – Marjorie Stewart (Eiza González) and Heron (Babs Olusanmokun) – spend the movie embedded in the port city where Operation Postmaster will take place. González and Olusanmokun are charming in their own right and have a delightful heist sequence together involving a suitcase on a train. But, through no fault of their own, their scenes are the most bogged down in the mechanics of espionage and also take on a tone that’s a little more serious than the film has space for.
The villain of the story, Heinrich Luhr (Til Schweiger), is introduced in their section of the movie, wiping blood off his hands after torturing a man we later see hanging naked from the ceiling in a dark room. This harrowing moment comes directly after Gus and company save Appleyard from the Nazis, finding him hooked up to a car battery by his nipples. The change in tone – torture as comedy versus torture as terror – is something the film doesn’t quite have the sophistication to manage.
Even with the chaos in its construction, “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” ends with a fairly simple victory, one that feels more interested in setting up a more exciting sequel rather than ending this particular film with a bang. But, there are a few simple pleasures Guy Ritchie understands and executes commendably most every time – and charming, impeccably-dressed men living dangerously is one of them.