In April 1945, an inexperienced US recruit is assigned to a tank crew at the front in Germany and, working a claustrophobic 24-hour day, becomes the perfect cog in a murderous war machine. The war film, which strives for bloody realism, also reflects the callousness and cynicism of its protagonists in the narrative tone. Because the staging dispenses with the usual shaky hand-held camera sequences and hectic cuts, there is room for reflections, which makes the fatalistic brutalization of the soldiers all the more shocking.
The war film is the stunted cherry blossom in a director’s portfolio. The opening of “Fury” is staged so outrageously that one gets the impression that during an opera performance, the digesting bean stew from the previous day is being carried through the hall and among the audience in long gusts of intestinal wind. Apparently, Fontane’s gray rider rides across the stage in person, only to be immediately lifted from the saddle by Wardaddy Collier (Brat Pitt). Then he climbs back into his Sherman tank “Fury“. Rat Ass (Jon Bernthal), Bible (Shia LaBeouf), and Gordo (Michael Peña) are waiting for him. Gordo curses in Spanish and Wardaddy calls him to order: “Is that Mexican? We’re in an American tank here.” No one is messing with the best job he’s ever had.