‘Wild Horse Nine’ Is a Comically Caustic Battle Cry

With Wild Horse Nine, writer-director Martin McDonagh returns to what put him on the map: making another surprisingly insightful, black-comic travelogue/buddy comedy in which two professional killers go on a very awkward vacation.

It’s basically an American spin on McDonagh’s 2008 feature-film debut In Bruges, which featured Irish hitmen (played by Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson) bickering and laying low in scenic Belgian country. This time around, it’s CIA agents Chris (John Malkovich) and Lee (Sam Rockwell) bickering and laying low on Easter Island. Fresh from helping set up the 1973 coup d’etat that ended democracy in Chile, they travel to the big-headed Chilean territory so the terminally ill Chris can chill and enjoy the sights before his old pal Lee fulfills his buddy’s wish by taking him out.

It’s a getaway that gets off on the wrong foot from the jump, with the mentally deteriorating Chris getting high off morphine and complaining and/or pissing off everyone he comes into contact with. (He would much rather hang out with the wild horses he sees around the island.) As if the pressure of killing his mentor isn’t enough, Lee also has to deal with concerned, insult-riddled phone calls from two parties: his superior (Steve Buscemi), who wants him to finish the job before Chris starts work on his very revealing memoir (as a Burn After Reading fan, I had fun seeing Malkovich in vulgar, unhinged CIA-crony mode again, dropping random musings in a tape recorder for his “mem-moi”); and his two-timing wife (Parker Posey), who worries that spooks have been keeping tabs on her and the kids.

McDonagh once again fires his foul tempered yet empathetic cylinders for another cranky crime farce in which lethal characters are too disillusioned and world-weary to be violent and menacing. They’ve seen the evil that men do — and they’re fed up with that shit too. Both Malkovich and Rockwell give compelling, zero-fucks energy in their performances and their wardrobe choices. Malkovich gets to indulge in his own flair for flamboyant fits, while Rockwell is all kitschy, retro leisure wear and cowboy hats.

Malkovich plays his ornery, dying hitman as someone who’s done preserving the tyranny of evil men. As a possible act of penance, he slings out some harsh truths about Chile’s future to a young Chilean student (Mariana di Girolamo) he befriends during his trip. Rockwell’s Lee assumes the role of beleaguered caretaker, oftentimes putting out fires by acting more asshole-ish than his bestie.

This comically caustic battle cry is McDonagh once again at his most bitterly hopeful, crafting a tale about people trying to find peace and love in a world where dangerous dickheads and despots ruin everything. As bullets and bullshit continually interrupt their good time, the ugly (but sympathetic) Americans of Wild Horse Nine stay sane by staying human — and connecting with others striving to do the same.

Even these aging assassins know that, to borrow a line from Fleabag creator/star (and McDonagh’s boo) Phoebe Waller-Bridge, people are all we’ve got.