When people feel unheard, they get loud. In “Dead Man’s Wire,” director Gus Van Sant (“My Own Private Idaho”) dramatizes a real hostage crisis, born from financial betrayal, exploring how a lack of control can curdle into violence.
Written by Austin Kolodney, “Dead Man’s Wire” reconstructs the 1977 Indianapolis hostage crisis orchestrated by Tony Kiritsis, who wired a shotgun to broker Richard Hall’s neck, demanding restitution after being defrauded by a mortgage company. Released in limited theaters on Jan. 9, the film unfolds in real time, filtering the standoff through radio broadcasts, television coverage and a dizzying chain of phone calls.
Rather than functioning as a traditional biopic, Van Sant’s film invites audiences to relive the event the way America did — as breaking news. Van Sant transforms Kiritsis’ personal collapse into a riveting study of how desperation, media and institutional failure collide.
The film often rushes past the roots of Kiritsis’ betrayal in favor of what unfolds live on air, a choice that defines the film. Fred Temple, a silky-voiced radio host played by Colman Domingo (“Sing Sing”), becomes our guide, and the only man Kiritsis speaks to publicly, narrating the standoff with a calm contrast to the violence at its center. Warm ‘70s soft rock and jazz drift between composer Danny Elfman’s tense score, and editor Saar Klein’s grainy textures and freeze frames evoke archival news footage, making the film feel like America’s listening in.
Known for his role in “It,” Bill Skarsgård’s Kiritsis fits within the actor’s wheelhouse: volatile, unpredictable and edged with dark humor. Skarsgård’s effectiveness at conveying menace is overshadowed by the film’s focus on Kiritsis’ erratic behavior. Without a clearer sense of who he was before the standoff, the central figure feels emotionally ambiguous.
Dacre Montgomery (“Stranger Things”) gives a convincingly fearful performance as Richard Hall, though a character facing a shotgun the entire movie is given little room to grow. The supporting cast fills in the margins, Domingo’s DJ is suave and grounding, Myha’la’s reporter injects urgency, Cary Elwes embodies rigid authority and Al Pacino looms as the mortgage tycoon, forming a chorus of institutions circling one man’s collapse.
Known for his intimate character studies, Van Sant takes a risk by embracing journalistic storytelling. The film transforms into a reconstruction of how an event unfolded in public consciousness. We don’t live inside Kiritsis — we observe him the way America once did in a bold and often compelling concept. However, the movie feels more like a news segment than a human portrait at times. One almost wishes Van Sant had allowed himself a few quieter, more personal scenes that might have bridged the emotional distance.
Still, “Dead Man’s Wire” succeeds in its central aim. It isn’t meant to explain every detail of Kiritsis’ life. It’s a film about how violence festers when people who lack control are systemically wronged and how that violence becomes a spectacle. By forcing us to relive the event through media, Van Sant reminds us that these stories are never just about one man; they’re about the systems that fail him and the audiences who watch.
4 phone calls out of 5
