DEAD MAN’S WIRE. A Dog’s Life [REVIEW]

A frosty morning, February 7, 1977. Tony Kiritsis, the main character of Dead Man’s Wire, pulls up in front of the Meridian Mortgage headquarters in Indianapolis. He walks into the building with a long package tucked under his arm. He’s visibly nervous—his trembling hands, halting voice, and vacant stare give him away. Although he had an appointment with the company president, he ultimately has to settle for a meeting with the man’s son, Richard Hall—the old man decided to head to Florida without warning his troublesome client.

Once the office door closes, Tony pulls a sawed-off shotgun from the package and ties it with wire around Richard’s neck. The concept is lethally simple: if the victim tries to escape, the gun will go off. If some hotheaded cop decides to play hero—the same result. Tony’s demands are clear: he wants a formal apology and compensation from the company whose actions have ruined him financially.

After its world premiere at the Venice Film Festival, Dead Man’s Wire was hailed as the great comeback of Gus Van Sant—and it’s hard to disagree. His latest film, made after a seven-year break, is an intimate variation on Dog Day Afternoon, blending high-quality entertainment with a clear anti-capitalist message. Van Sant draws heavily from Sidney Lumet’s cult classic: he asks questions about the ambivalent role of the media in situations where a human life is at stake. He breaks down the rigid division between victims and perpetrators, skillfully manipulating the audience’s emotions. The film is filled with absurd, often grotesque humor that regularly releases tension and gives the story a welcome lightness.

Finally, in a small but significant role, Van Sant casts none other than Al Pacino himself. It’s both an intelligent wink at American film history and an ironic gesture—reminiscent of what Martin Scorsese did in his Cape Fear remake, casting Robert Mitchum and Gregory Peck in roles that subverted their parts from the 1960s original. The star of Dog Day Afternoon plays here the complete opposite of his Lumet character: a cynical, utterly corrupt capitalist who values his own pride more than his son’s life.

Although the supporting cast features some excellent actors—including several familiar faces, with Colman Domingo and Al Pacino leading the pack—Dead Man’s Wire is one of those films that can only be described as a one-man show. Bill Skarsgård, in the role of Tony Kiritsis, is the undisputed alpha and omega of Van Sant’s project. The director makes use of the actor’s established persona—made up largely of literal and metaphorical monsters—but shifts the emphasis slightly. Once again, the Swede plays someone mentally unstable, unpredictable, and constantly on edge—yet this time he wins the audience’s sympathy. His desperation and readiness to risk everything evoke compassion before they do fear. Skarsgård imbues his character with a disarming naivety: a blind faith that everything can still be fixed, that one man is not doomed in a fight against a dehumanized corporate machine. Thanks to an intelligent script and a deeply convincing performance, Kiritsis becomes both understandable and likable—even if the form of his resistance, for obvious reasons, raises moral doubts.

Van Sant openly sympathizes with his controversial protagonist—the acquittal on grounds of insanity is presented almost as a happy ending. The director hoists the kidnapper onto a metaphorical banner, treating him as a kind of idea in himself (one only needs to compare photos of the real Kiritsis and Skarsgård to see that painstaking reconstruction wasn’t a priority here). Here stands a modern-day David, facing Goliath in an unequal fight—armed not with a sling, but with a loaded shotgun and a piece of wire. There’s hardly a need to convince anyone that this is a universal and still-relevant idea. Just recall what social media looked like after the murder of Brian Thompson, the CEO of UnitedHealthcare. The killer, Luigi Mangione, became an online symbol of justified violence—a manifestation of Americans’ righteous anger toward a dysfunctional healthcare system that puts corporate profits above individual well-being.

If the events of Van Sant’s film happened today, they would likely provoke similar emotions. After all, little has changed in nearly fifty years: the powerless are still powerless, and big business is doing better than ever. The cases of Kiritsis and Mangione—and the public’s reception of their actions—should serve as a serious warning to every businessman whose profit depends on the number of broken backs. But let’s not delude ourselves: dishonest practices and shady dealings will continue to exist as long as maintaining them remains cheaper than hiring another pair of security guards.