Wild Horse Nine preview screening provided by Disney.
Martin McDonagh is the king of quirky, irreverent two-handers, and with Wild Horse Nine (2026) he continues his famed tradition of pairing two elite actors — one with a testing, dry sense of humour and the other with a more logical way of thinking — together in a serene location, setting them loose and just letting them bring magic to his writing. That those actors are John Malkovich and Sam Rockwell is even more of a drawcard, with the former making you wonder why the hell it’s taken this long for McDonagh to bring him into his zany worlds and witty scripts, and the latter already a seasoned McDonagh veteran.
It’s really this pairing that makes every line of dialogue, every subtle cue and twist and turn, work. The premise isn’t a complicated one, as is tradition with a McDonagh joint: Chris (Malkovich) is dying and his memory is dwindling, and he wants his long time sidekick Lee (Rockwell) to whack him on Easter Island. It makes for a sandbox of comedic opportunity and colour, as Chris’ wish leaves a complicated web of events in its wake. For starters, he’s a CIA operative and has decided before he dies he wants to write (record) a memoir recounting his life, one which has seen him deliver some confidential tasks that his boss, MJ (Steve Buscemi) is really worried about him airing.
Like with In Bruges (2008) and The Banshees of Inisherin (2022), the setting in Wild Horse Nine is almost a character of its own, opening up moments for the characters to admire or gawk over, often making you forget that there are greater stakes to proceedings and focusing instead on the tourist-esque sightseeing going on. But stakes there are, with MJ constantly in Lee’s ear, checking to see if he has managed to do the deed yet, while hinting that he may harm his family if he doesn’t follow through on said deed.
What ensues is a cleverly written and expertly delivered dark comedy, with Malkovich’s charisma and almost tepid manner of speaking leaving you hanging on to every word, bringing a level of melancholy and humour that is perfect for this genre of filmmaking. By that same token, Rockwell balances out Malkovich’s performance by having a soulful yet considered display of emotion, showing enough empathy while having a firm head all the same. In fact, no line of dialogue feels wasted to the point where it’s easy to just be led by Malkovich and Rockwell’s seamless back and forth exchanges, with the feeling that the camera may has well have just been left on by mistake and what flowed was a normal conversation between the two.
Beyond that, Wild Horse Nine operates under no illusions of grandeur; Chris’ history of being a hitman with 68 assassinations leads him to try and substantiate that his actions are less repugnant than that of a Nazi, and should see him enter heaven. It’s these self-reflexive moments that bring to the forefront the fears of a man who has seemingly feared nothing up until this point, a staple of a McDonagh film where philosophical questions and conversations stem from the characters facing a tough moment and weighing up all their actions up until this particular point in time.
Political tensions around the coup in Chile form much of the side conversations, with McDonagh introducing two politically charged travelers, Monica (Mariana di Girolamo) and Alicia (Ailín Salas) who also serve to give Chris a point from which to reflect on his own life as he comes to terms with its inevitable end. While the actual ramifications of the coup and the implications this would have on a nation for decades to come are quite undercooked, it’s a particularly tender exchange between Chris and Monica on the banks of a beach that yields a memorable line that speaks to this bittersweet mood often present in a McDonagh film: “You’re life, and I’m leaving it”. In this way, much of Wild Horse Nine is about coming to terms with one’s life, with finding a way to leave a mark even in those closing chapters when you think there isn’t much left to write.
Wild Horse Nine opens nationally from November 5.
