Nicole Kidman's Chilling Transformation in a Gripping Neo-Noir

One of the reigning champions of crime cinema has got to be the undercover cop flick. You know the kind—the hero must stealthily infiltrate a criminal underworld, all in a desperate bid to take the bad guys down from the inside. You might have seen it all before, from the gripping rhythms of Old Hollywood classics like White Heat to modern masterpieces like The Departed. There's just something about a "good guy" having to "break bad" that sends an electric charge through the audience, complemented by the oh-so-precious tension of keeping their cover intact.

But let’s get real: In today’s shifting landscape of cop and criminal portrayals, any daring filmmaker trying to tread this well-worn path needs to sidestep the pitfall of turning either side into a hero. Enter Destroyer, a neo-noir thrill ride that blurs the lines between good and evil with the finesse of an artist painting a masterpiece. It follows Erin Bell, a worn-down ex-Los Angeles Police Department officer, wading through the murky waters of vengeance after an undercover gig went gloriously wrong.

Now, picture this: Erin, played with haunting brilliance by Nicole Kidman, once had the daunting task of embedding herself within a street gang. She fleetingly thought she found love with FBI agent Chris, played by Sebastian Stan, only to see that love thrown into disarray when tragedy strikes. Erin tries her best to shield her daughter Shelby, who *bless her heart* is just trying to grow up outside a world mired in violence. But when she learns that gang leader Silas Howe (Toby Kebbell) is still around to wreak havoc, guess who’s getting the band back together? That’s right: Erin joins forces with the FBI again, but this time it’s personal. She’s aiming to ensure Silas feels every ounce of anguish she experienced when Chris was ripped from her arms.

Let’s have a moment for the movie with the longest shoot: it still wasn’t long enough for Kidman, who balances the dark themes like a tightrope walker on the verge of a creative breakthrough. The nonlinear storytelling here gives the narrative a kind of well-choreographed chaos that emphasizes that fateful moment when Chris gives into his emotions. You know, the moment where you just sit there eating your popcorn and think, “Oh no, this can’t end well!”

There’s no sugarcoating the reality that these lovebirds are thoroughly damaged, and their connection serves not just as a haven but as a sharp reminder of everything they've lost. And while the film does not shy away from its raw depictions of violence and heartbreak, it’s Kidman’s heart-wrenching performance that leaves the audience gasping and slack-jawed as Chris’s life unravels. You see, she’s not just acting; she’s wielding emotion like a weapon.

Credit where it’s due! Writer and director Karyn Kusama crafts this story with a sensibility that harks back to her earlier horror masterpieces, Jennifer’s Body and The Invitation. There’s a visceral immediacy to her approach, exemplified by the jaw-dropping bank heist scene that will stay lodged in your memory long after the credits roll. Watching Erin morph into a darker version of her former self is both captivating and upsetting, like watching your favorite childhood toy turn sinister.

Once upon a time, Erin had a sense of duty—a pledge to uphold the law. But Chris’s tragic fate shatters her morality into tiny, jagged shards. Instead, she wields her badge like a sword, piercing through layers of convention on her path of vengeance. The raw energy of Kidman's and Stan's performances turns Destroyer from just another B-movie into an incendiary reimagining of the noir genre. While the makeup artist might give them a time-bending glow, it’s Kidman’s precise delivery of chaos that makes Erin truly unforgettable.

So, is Destroyer a walk in the park? Hardly! It’s not for the faint-hearted nor does it hand out straightforward conclusions. But what it does do is infuse groundbreaking tension into familiar tropes, leaving viewers with more questions than answers, and a lingering sense of discomfort. And that, my friends, is as real as it gets.