(Credits: Matoo.Studio)

When Tom Hardy signs on to something, expectations are automatically raised. And when Gareth Evans directs, expectations double. So when both teamed up for Havoc, Netflix subscribers hit play with the kind of excitement usually reserved for surprise hits or long-lost cult revivals.

However, what they got instead was an exhausting blur of blood and confusing plot threads wrapped in a very stylish but very empty package. Havoc climbed Netflix’s global and US most popular lists shortly after its release in April. Quite briefly, it dominated the headlines. Sadly, the buzz wore off almost as quickly as the bruises in its overlong hallway brawls.

On paper, Havoc had everything: a gritty detective tale, a kidnapped politician’s son, a spiralling conspiracy, and plenty of rooms for Tom Hardy to fight his way through. The film opens with grit and urgency and sets up a crime web in a rain-soaked cityscape. A setting that feels appropriately shadowy and mean. But then the plot stalls, flattens, and eventually collapses under the weight of its own self-importance.

The biggest issue? It simply forgets to care about its characters. Hardy’s bruised detective spends most of the runtime limping, punching, bleeding, and brooding, but it rarely connects with the audience. Forest Whitaker appears, disappears, and delivers lines that feel like deleted scenes from three different movies. Supporting characters float in and out, existing solely to get beaten up or pass along vague, unnecessary information.

Coming to the fights, well, if you are into hallway smackdowns and dirty grapples in abandoned warehouses, there is plenty of room to enjoy. Gareth Evans still knows how to shoot a fight that makes you wince. But after the third identical chase-and-punch sequence, even the action starts to feel oddly sterile. After a while, it is all flash, no sting. All impact, no stakes.

The film’s attempts at narrative depth fall flat too. Conspiracy talk buzzes around like background noise, never adding weight or meaning. Dialogue exists only to move the film to the next location. There is a sense that something bigger is at play, but the movie never stops long enough to let it land.

What hurts most is how much potential Havoc had. Evans is a master of the genre. Hardy is one of the few actors who can sell both brute force and internal chaos. But together, they are oddly muted. Instead of pushing boundaries, the film plays like a highlight reel of better thrillers you’ve already seen. It gestures toward meaning but never follows through.

So why did everyone still watch it?

Because Netflix marketed it like a prestige thriller. Because the poster looked cool. Because Tom Hardy’s name still carries weight. And because, in the sea of disposable streaming options, Havoc at least looked like something worth watching. The only issue… it just wasn’t.

By the time the credits roll, you are left with a few well-shot brawls, a moody synth-heavy score, and a story that never really began. No surprises, no catharsis, and no real tension. Just a lot of running, grunting, bleeding, and forgetting why you started caring in the first place.

In a year filled with experimental storytelling, thoughtful crime dramas, and smarter thrillers, Havoc stands out for all the wrong reasons. It is Netflix’s loudest whisper of 2025. A movie that tried to punch through the noise and ended up swinging at air.