The acclaimed drama Guerra Civil, which has garnered an impressive 81% approval rating from critics on Rotten Tomatoes, is now available for streaming. The film, an original production from A24, premiered on Netflix on April 18, 2025. Set in a dystopian future, it follows a group of journalists navigating the United States during an intense civil conflict that engulfs the nation.
Starring notable actors such as Wagner Moura, Kirsten Dunst, and Cailee Spaeny, the film has achieved significant commercial success, grossing $126.1 million at the worldwide box office. This impressive figure makes Guerra Civil the second-highest grossing film in A24's history, surpassed only by the phenomenon Tudo em Todo o Lugar ao Mesmo Tempo, which grossed $143.4 million.
In Guerra Civil, director Alex Garland constructs a narrative that, while set in a familiar and recognizable territory, deliberately avoids deciphering the origins of the conflict or providing answers about political alliances and institutional developments. Instead, the film focuses on the present—on despair, survival, and the open wounds of a country torn apart. The viewer is not led by slogans or the logic of opposing camps; even the name of the president is never revealed.
What emerges is a brutal, unfiltered portrayal of human degradation in wartime, taking place on familiar soil rather than in some distant, exotic land. This narrative choice significantly amplifies the impact of the experience, as if violence, anarchy, and fear have crossed the screen to invade the viewer's backyard. It is not a traditional war film, nor is it a dystopia embellished with exaggerations. Garland achieves something rarer: a speculative realism that, although fictional, seems entirely plausible, constructed from the visible cracks in the social fabric of the United States.
The script is straightforward yet profound; sober but imbued with tension. The story unfolds through the lenses of war journalists, whose cameras do not serve as tools of denunciation but rather as instruments of raw and impartial observation—or as impartial as one can be amidst chaos. Through these lenses, the audience traverses cities stripped of logic, communities that simulate a fragile normality, and zones where barbarism replaces any semblance of law.
There are no clearly defined heroes or villains, just human beings trying to survive in a territory where ideology has become identity and power is a matter of who fires first. The choice to set the conflict within American territory—and not on some remote front—is more than an aesthetic device. It is a symbolic gesture that forces us to imagine violence without the comfort of distance. Instead of treating war as something that happens "out there," Garland lays bare the destructive potential of what could happen "in here," or rather, what may already be happening in silence.
The brutality of the scenes is not sensationalized but felt viscerally: the sound design, especially in formats like IMAX, amplifies every gunshot, every explosion, and every oppressive silence between ambushes. The soundtrack contributes to a state of constant alert, jolting the audience when they begin to settle in. Nothing here is stylized for entertainment; everything aims to disturb, destabilize, and provoke thought.
Guerra Civil does not seek to win over audiences with fiery speeches or convoluted plots. Its strength lies in the sobriety with which it depicts collapse—not the collapse of a specific political system, but the very idea of social cohesion. The cast, led by Kirsten Dunst and Cailee Spaeny, delivers restrained yet intense performances that reject the easy histrionics. Even when Dunst does not reach moments of individual brilliance, the strength of the ensemble prevails.
Perhaps this is another merit of the film: by rejecting heroic and messianic protagonists, it opts for characters who record, observe, and resist. They do not guide us morally; they simply show us what is happening—and that is enough for us to be engulfed by the collapse.
Watching Guerra Civil is less an exercise in fiction than a test of perception. Garland does not propose an improbable future but a logical extrapolation of the present, where political fissures, cultural fragmentation, and the collapse of institutional trust become fuel for disaster. There are no easy answers, no explicit messages. There is only the implicit question that resonates when the lights come up: how far are we from this?
The film does not serve as entertainment or manifesto. It stands as a silent alert, a distorted—but recognizable—reflection of a society on the brink of the abyss.
