Glen Powell’s dark comedy about murder is humorless as a dead body.

Movie Review

HOW TO MAKE A KILLING

Running time: 105 minutes. Rated R for language and some on-screen carnage. Premiered February 20th, for those eager to witness cinematic mayhem.

Prepare yourself, dear reader, for a delightful bloodbath: “How to Make a Killing” features eight deaths! Seven mortal souls join the afterlife, while one very much abused literary trope is mercilessly butchered. Spoiler alert: There’s a lot of blood. Like, pool-party-at-a-vampire’s-house levels of blood.

In a baffling choice of modernization, writer-director John Patton Ford has reimagined the classic “Kind Hearts and Coronets” — once a charming comedy starring Alec Guinness. Ford has seemingly taken the original premise of a hapless heir to a fortune and said, “Let’s drop him in contemporary New York City and see how many murder scenes we can stuff into a 105-minute runtime.” Kudos to him for his ambition; unfortunately, that ambition comes with cement boots.

Groovy Glen Powell takes center stage as the ever-devious Becket Redfellow, a middle-class tailor devising a diabolical plan: eliminate family members residing in Manhattan to claim their supposed billions. One can’t help but wonder if Mr. Redfellow would have a future in the fast-paced world of reality TV, as schemes this absurd should come with a side of popcorn.

Moving the action to an urban jungle does little to bolster the credibility of the plot. In Edwardian England, a murderous spree felt almost believable amidst the genteel shenanigans afforded by sprawling estates. Fast forward to an era where DNA evidence and security cams are practically ubiquitous — even your grandmother’s cat has a high-definition Insta account — and suddenly Becket’s antics seem more suited for a slapstick comedy than a serious crime drama.

Perhaps the filmmakers believed they could trivialize the FBI’s intelligence-gathering capabilities. Two remarkably nonchalant agents take on a case that’s practically gift-wrapped, yet somehow the Bureau can’t seem to connect the dots. Because who wouldn’t think twice about Becket, an amateur killer with the subtlety of a marching band in a library? Or so it seems, judging by the film’s insistence that viewers should suspend disbelief while tapping our watches in suspense.

Let’s talk about Glen Powell, who brings such a lack of charisma to the screen, he could easily blend into a beige wall. One might call it acting, but “being barely there” seems more fitting. He stumbles his way through a list of unfortunate relatives to “off” — including a helicopter-jumping playboy and a Hillsong-like cult leader played by Topher Grace, whose own motivations and sanity seem to drift into deep waters.

The film does produce some colorful characters, like the Redfellow patriarch played by Ed Harris, who acts as if he wandered in from an entirely different movie that actually knows how to build tension. The presence of his character makes the audience ponder whether the filmmakers were aware they were crafting a heist comedy rather than a profound societal commentary. Spoilers: they weren’t.

Julia, Becket’s childhood confidante played by Margaret Qualley, is another curious case of confusing characterization. She’s meant to encapsulate the “calculating friend” stereotype but merely generates thoughts of an old calculator stuck in math class. Qualley could shine in more grounded roles — perhaps something that doesn’t involve cold-blooded plotting — or at least make the dark humor work. Remember to avoid supporting characters like these if you don’t want a plot as stale as last week’s bread.

Ultimately, “How to Make a Killing” squanders much potential and echoes the rushing conclusion of a bad sitcom — all punchlines and no genuine setups. Forget “Get rich quick”; it seems like this film marries the slow crawl of wealth to unyielding tedium. So, if you’re in the market for a comedy about murder that feels as fun as watching paint dry, well, congratulations, your cinematic dreams have come true.