A working man

In the landscape of modern action cinema, where slick, hyper-stylized images often overshadow realism and character work, A Working Man stands out as a stubborn, unpretentious old-school film, the kind of movie that proudly displays its roots and never apologizes for being what it is. It reunites director David Ayer and Jason Statham after the highly successful The Beekeeper, but while that film pushed absurdity to almost mythical levels, A Working Man settles into something more measured, emotionally grounded, and even deeper. This isn't just an action and revenge movie, it's the portrait of a broken man searching for meaning in his life and redemption in a world that no longer knows what to do with men like him.

From the very first images, David Ayer sets the tone, which is both epic and intimate. The film opens with a dramatic montage that alternates between flashes of Levon Cade's military past—bullets falling in slow motion, folded flags, silhouettes darkened by the traumas of the battlefield—and the mundane rhythm of his new life as a foreman on a construction site in Chicago. A concrete mixer spins in one shot, and in the next, we see the painful ritual of a man sleeping in his pickup truck, saving every penny to regain custody of his young daughter. These images not only set up the plot, they establish a dichotomy between violence and normality, past and present, war and work. This is a film about a man trying to rebuild not only buildings, but also his life.

Jason Statham, now approaching 60 but still moving with the energy of a man half his age, delivers one of the most accomplished performances of his career. As Levon Cade, he exudes the familiar blend of deadly intensity and restraint that defines his action persona, but here there is something deeper beneath the surface. Cade isn't just a retired commando or a construction worker with a mysterious past, he's a man still trying to figure out what kind of father, what kind of person he has the right to be. He's haunted, sure, but he's not broken. When he tells someone, with stoic finality, “That's not who I am anymore,” we believe him—and yet we also know that this film will challenge that statement and that, in the end, he will have found something essential by returning to his old ways, not as a regression, but as a reluctant catharsis.

The plot of A Working Man may seem familiar on paper—a kidnapped girl, Russian gangsters, a lone vigilante—but it's all in the execution. The screenplay, co-written by Sylvester Stallone and David Ayer and adapted from Chuck Dixon's novel Levon's Trade, knows its genre and doesn't seek so much to subvert expectations as to elevate them. There is no cynicism here, no ironic nod to the audience. Every line, every punch, every act of vengeance is delivered with complete sincerity. The emotional arc of the film is almost refreshing in its lack of irony. It's not about twists and turns, but about courage, commitment, and emotional consistency.

What sets this film apart from other action films featuring vigilantes is the texture of its characters. Michael Peña, in the role of Joe Garcia, Levon's compassionate employer, adds warmth and weight to the plot. Their friendship feels genuine, not contrived. Arianna Rivas, as Jenny, the kidnapped girl, defies the stereotype of the passive damsel in distress by displaying a resilience and intelligence that enrich the emotional stakes. And David Harbour almost steals the show as Gunny, a blind veteran and weapons expert who brings both comic relief and thematic resonance. Gunny isn't just Cade's sidekick, he's a symbol of the soldier abandoned by society, surviving on muscle memory and unwavering loyalty. Their bond, forged in war, rough and deeply respectful, gives the film a soul rarely found in this genre.

Visually, A Working Man has a raw, tactile aesthetic. David Ayer relies on the shadows and textures of Chicago's industrial areas, contrasting steel beams and neon reflections with the bizarre, decadent atmosphere of the underground world Cade must infiltrate. The villains are dressed like rejects from a post-apocalyptic fashion week: one wears a crumpled velvet cape, another a paisley suit paired with a bobble hat, but this visual absurdity works in the film's favor. The contrast between Cade's work boots and their designer shoes speaks volumes: this man comes from another world, a world where morality was defined by duty, not excess. The film's final act, lit by moonlight, is absurdly grandiose, with a final confrontation illuminated by a moon the size of a billboard, which manages to evoke something almost mythical. The action is elevated to the status of a folk tale, with Cade as the last honest man standing against a carnival of corruption.

The choreography of the action scenes is also remarkable. While some might wish for longer shots or more choreographed sequences, A Working Man offers brutal and unforgiving physicality. Jason Statham fights like a trained and determined man: every move is effective, every impact is felt. Whether he's fighting in the back of a speeding pickup truck or bursting into a neon-lit brothel, his performance exudes a realistic ferocity that makes the violence believable, even when the world around him veers into the surreal.

But beneath the bullets and bravado, there is a surprising emotional depth that lingers long after the credits roll. When Cade finally parts with his M14 rifle, a remnant of his former life, which he holds like a lover and bids a solemn farewell, it's not just a moment of action. It's a symbolic gesture that marks the end of a cycle. Here is a man who has had to resort to violence to protect the innocent, certainly, but who never glorifies the bloodshed. In a world where trauma is often seen as a superpower, A Working Man pauses, briefly, to show the price it takes.

It is this sincerity that elevates A Working Man above its peers. It is not a parody of old-school action cinema, it is a tribute. It's a film that doesn't need clever subversion to earn its place, because it knows that sometimes, when done with heart, the familiar story of a man doing the right thing—not for money, not for revenge, but out of a pure sense of morality—can still resonate. There's something almost elegiac about its tone, a farewell not only to a new series of disposable villains, but also to a form of masculinity that, for better or worse, doesn't fit perfectly into the modern world. Jason Statham, an actor too often underestimated for his stoic appearance, reminds us why he remains one of the last true action stars. His performance here is a lesson in restraint, intensity, and conviction. He doesn't reinvent the wheel; he simply reminds us why it still turns.

A Working Man may not reinvent the genre, but it doesn't need to. It knows exactly what it is: a punch in the gut, a hand on the shoulder, a film that proudly embraces its pulp sensibilities and still finds moments of grace amid the grime. It's a throwback, a character study, a visceral journey, and a surprisingly sincere elegy for an honorable man with blood on his hands. And in an era of spectacular franchises and ironic antiheroes, that may be the most radical thing an action movie can do. An instant classic of the genre and undoubtedly one of the best action movies of the year. To be seen and seen again.

A Working Man
Directed by David Ayer
Written by Sylvester Stallone, David Ayer
Based on Levon's Trade by Chuck Dixon
Produced by Chris Long, Jason Statham, John Friedberg, David Ayer, Sylvester Stallone, Bill Block, Kevin King Templeton
Starring Jason Statham, Jason Flemyng, Michael Peña, David Harbour
Cinematography: Shawn White
Edited by Fred Raskin
Music by Jared Michael Fry
Production companies: Black Bear, Cedar Park Entertainment, Punch Palace Productions, Balboa Productions
Distributed by Amazon MGM Studios (through Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer) (United States)
Release date: March 28, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 116 minutes

Seen on April 5, 2025 at AMC Town Square 16 in Las Vegas, theater 5

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