Ivan Radford | On 03, Aug 2024

Director: Guy Ritchie
Cast: Henry Cavill, Eiza González, Alan Ritchson, Henry Golding, Cary Elwes, Alex Pettyfer, Rory Kinnear, Freddie Fox, Danny Sapani
Certificate: 15

With more than 10 films and TV shows to his name in the past decade, Guy Ritchie is rapidly becoming one of Britain’s most prolific filmmakers. After heading to Hollywood for Aladdin and Sherlock Holmes, the Snatch and Lock Stock helmer has found a comfortable groove in mid-budget blockbusters. Hot on the heels of the gripping The Covenant, the enjoyable Wrath of Man and the uneven Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre, the terribly titled The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare sits somewhere between the latter and The Man from UNCLE.

The film gives an account of Operation Postmaster, a covert mission that involved stealing ships from the Nazis during World War II. While it’s based on the book Churchill’s Secret Warriors: The Explosive True Story of the Special Forces Desperadoes of WWII, Ritchie’s account is less bothered with accuracy and more with having a good time – and if you can go into it with that spirit, you’ll do the same.

Henry Cavill stars as Gus March-Phillipps, recruited by Churchill (Rory Kinnear) to create an off-the-books group of agents prepared to be far from gentlemanly in their exploits. The ragtag band of brothers includes Henry Golding as Freddy Alvarez – a playful Frogman – Hero Fiennes Tiffin as loyal sailor Henry Hayes and Reacher’s Alan Ritchson as the formidable fighter Anders Lassen. Along the way, they rescue the slippery Geoffrey Appleyard (Alex Pettyfer) and team up with cunning agent Marjorie Stewart (Eiza González) and resourceful British operative Richard Heron (Babs Olusanmokun).

With everyone from Cary Elwes and Danny Sapani turning up to enjoy themselves, one of the joys of the film is simply seeing so many talented performers relishing such a jaunty project. As the villain, Heinrich, Til Schweiger is clearly having a ball, while Henry Cavill swaggers about with enough charisma to pull off March-Phillipps’ impressive moustache.

Never knowingly understated, like March-Phillipps’ facial hair, Ritchie’s direction is all explosions and zero subtlety, while the script dials up the banter in favour of facts. The result is overlong and has a cartoonish quality that recalls Inglourious Basterds, but there’s enough spark to sell the historical invention as a spy caper rather than a documentary. When Ian Fleming turns up in the background of one scene, you know not to take things too seriously.

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