AceShowbiz - Peaky Blinders returns with its feature-length follow-up, Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man, opening with a grim and impactful scene. On the night of November 19, 1940, the film portrays women entering a Birmingham munitions factory, sharing a birthday celebration before the sudden and devastating bombing destroys the facility. This dramatic introduction underscores the severe stakes of World War II, emphasizing that the conflict reached into the heart of Birmingham itself.

The film pays tribute to the real-life tragedy by dedicating itself to those who perished in that bombing. However, this somber dedication contrasts sharply with the film’s tone, especially as it indulges in some of the worst tendencies of the original television show. Fans of Peaky Blinders are familiar with its blend of intense family drama and stylized gangster storytelling. The series has always balanced the high-stakes crime battles between the Shelby family and their adversaries with a glorification of Tommy Shelby’s violent, tortured antihero persona, often appealing to a certain macho aesthetic popularized on social media.

The movie’s trailer hinted at a departure from the familiar cast, raising questions about how it would connect to the original series. Indeed, Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man largely sidelines the canonical characters for a narrative that feels more accessible to those who know the show only through social media clips rather than deep familiarity with its lore. The story centers on Tommy Shelby (played by Cillian Murphy), now retired and haunted by ghosts of his violent past, wandering his estate and struggling with his legacy. His primary activity is writing a book titled The Immortal Man, which the film repeatedly references in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek manner.

The plot thickens when Tommy’s sister Ada (Sophie Rundle) arrives, concerned about Tommy’s estranged son Duke (Barry Keoghan) who has taken over the Peaky Blinders. Duke’s increasingly fascist approach, including a partnership with Nazi operative Beckett (Tim Roth), drives the conflict. Together, they plot to destabilize England’s economy by flooding it with counterfeit currency. While new characters have historically enriched the show, here they seem muted, with performances often subdued to the point of lethargy, particularly in contrast to Murphy’s typically commanding presence.

The narrative is thin, stretched far beyond what would make for a compelling episode, let alone a full-length movie. The central drama revolves around generational disputes and questions of loyalty: Will Duke follow Tommy’s path or align with the Nazis? These themes are explored in dark, often dreary settings that drag on despite the predictability of their resolution. The film also ramps up Tommy’s violence to levels usually reserved for climactic season finales, but without the usual narrative justification. His moral code appears fractured, buried alongside the graves on his estate, while the film shows brutal treatment of women and grotesque acts like feeding bodies to pigs.

This portrayal creates a confusing tone, as Tommy simultaneously embodies a woke political stance and a ruthless killer who dispatches enemies without remorse. The tension between his beliefs and actions, which could have made for a nuanced character study, instead results in a disjointed and harsh atmosphere that undermines the film’s emotional weight.

The dedication to the munitions factory workers who died during the bombing feels particularly hollow given how women are depicted throughout the movie. Female characters are largely reduced to victims or objects, with many meeting violent ends or serving as narrative devices rather than full-fledged personalities. Rebecca Ferguson’s role as Kaulo, the “Queen of the Gypsies,” is notable but predominantly functions as a conduit for the story of a deceased woman. This reliance on dead women as motivators for male characters’ violence grows repetitive and tiresome, especially for fans familiar with the show’s earlier seasons, which featured strong and complex female leads such as Helen McCrory’s Aunt Polly and Natasha O’Keeffe’s Lizzie.

Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man seems indifferent to these concerns, focusing instead on explosions and action sequences designed to showcase male characters’ toughness. The men remain largely unscathed by the upheaval, maintaining their status quo while women are left to suffer the consequences and fade into the background. The film’s failure to give meaningful agency or depth to its female characters is a significant shortcoming, especially contrasted against the real-world horrors it ostensibly honors.

Ultimately, The Immortal Man exemplifies the flaws many fans and critics have noted in the Peaky Blinders franchise: a tendency to glorify violence and toxic masculinity while sacrificing narrative depth and character development. The film’s attempt to link its story to a historical tragedy adds a layer of gravitas, but this is undercut by its indulgence in the show’s less admirable traits. For new viewers drawn in by social media snippets, the movie may offer a digestible introduction, but for longtime fans hoping for a richer continuation of the Shelby saga, it likely falls short.

The movie’s disjointed tone, underdeveloped plot, and problematic gender portrayals leave it feeling more like a series of stylized set pieces than a coherent story. While Cillian Murphy and Barry Keoghan bring charisma to their roles, even their performances cannot fully compensate for the film’s uneven execution. As a tribute to wartime loss, The Immortal Man struggles to find the respect and emotional resonance it intends, instead becoming an example of how the Peaky Blinders brand can sometimes falter when stretched beyond its original television format.