‘Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man’ Review: Netflix Sequel Film

The television series Peaky Blinders rose to prominence in the 2010s, captivating audiences primarily through its compelling ambiance, striking visuals, and the effortlessly brooding portrayal of Cillian Murphy astride a horse.

Set in Birmingham, this British gangster period drama, spanning from 1919 to the mid-1930s, drew superficial comparisons to The Sopranos in its initial seasons. This was likely due to both shows’ embrace of violence, romanticization of their outsider protagonists, and reverence for traditional masculine aesthetics. However, the similarities proved shallow. While The Sopranos was rooted in cinematic precision, Peaky Blinders offered a more visceral, “bro-core” interpretation of cool. The signature Peaky Blinders aesthetic often features hard rock and punk soundtracks accompanying scenes of imposing figures in wool suits and newsboy caps, exuding menace as they stride, often on horseback. The impact was largely visceral. Though its production design and cinematography were consistently excellent, the narrative often struggled to match the power of its atmosphere.

To me, Peaky Blinders always felt more akin to Downton Abbey than to other antihero narratives of its era – a lighthearted diversion that was more aesthetically pleasing than intellectually stimulating. This connection between the two British export successes was never clearer than during my viewing of Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man, a concise yet unambitious two-hour feature film now streaming on Netflix. Acting as a sort of epilogue to the series, which concluded its six-season run in 2022, the film is visually captivating, and the performances are undeniably strong—especially from Barry Keoghan, who displays remarkable on-screen chemistry with every co-star, from a surrogate Nazi father to a random business owner he’s assaulting, and even his character’s biological aunt. Yet, the fan service often feels rushed and perfunctory, as if merely ticking off plot points en route to a predetermined ending. Tom Harper (known for Wild Rose) directed the screenplay penned by series creator Steven Knight.

I readily concede that one person’s profound drama can be another’s cheesy melodrama. In this instance, the overly simplistic and exposition-heavy dialogue appears to be a clear symptom of “second screen-itis.”

Murphy reprises his role as Tommy Shelby, the perpetually haunted former leader of the formidable, yet respected, Peaky Blinders outfit. When we first encountered Tommy in season one, he was a young man of Romani and Irish Traveller heritage, freshly returned from World War I and already carving out his domain in Birmingham’s underworld with his volatile family. In Immortal Man, Tommy is now gaunt and consumed by sorrow. The year is 1940, and the Midlands are enduring the Blitz. At the series’ close, having faced his own falsely prophesied death and wrestled with the brutal legacy he’d forged, Tommy burned his Romani caravan and severed all social ties. Years on, his life remains largely unlived. He resides in a dilapidated estate, shooting pigeons and penning his mea culpa autobiography on a creaky typewriter, tormented by visions of his young daughter, long deceased from tuberculosis. His troubled brother, Arthur (Paul Anderson), is absent from his life for reasons that soon become apparent.

Tommy initially shows no interest in the fate of his crew without him, until he receives visits from two somewhat unwelcome women: his resolute sister, Ada (Sophie Rundle), now a prominent politician in their home district; and Kaulo (Rebecca Ferguson), a Romani woman tasked with guiding Tommy towards his ultimate destiny, or so it seems. Both women serve as clear “hero’s call to adventure” catalysts, straight from Joseph Campbell’s playbook. Ada informs him that Birmingham is in ruins after an aerial strike and that his son is driving the Blinders into the ground with immoral decisions and alliances. Meanwhile, Kaulo — portrayed by Ferguson in a mystical black wig and a vaguely Slavic accent — may or may not be literally exchanging spirits with her deceased twin sister, who happens to be the mother of Tommy’s illegitimate son.

And what a scoundrel he is! Late in the final Peaky Blinders season, Tommy was presented with the deus ex machina revelation of a long-lost son fathered with a “gypsy” woman named Zelda. (This term is consistently used within the narrative, apparently reflecting period appropriate language.) Formerly embodied by young actor Conrad Khan, Duke is now portrayed by a highly eager-to-please Barry Keoghan, a notable casting choice. Nihilistic Duke claims indifference to everything and everyone. Having assumed control from his estranged father, he has steered the Blinders into criminal ventures that actively jeopardize Britain’s efforts to fend off the German war machine, including the theft of wartime artillery and morphine intended for bombing victims. (He’s a true wrong’un, he is!)

Soon, Duke finds himself wooed by a soft-spoken British traitor and fascist named John Beckett (Tim Roth), who plots to flood the British market with German-produced counterfeit currency to cripple the economy. While Duke is certainly enticed by the vast sums of money involved, he is even more captivated by this almost cartoonishly evil villain’s flattery, particularly his expression of wishing his own weak son possessed Duke’s perceived manliness.

Can Tommy Shelby rescue his antisocial son from the 1940s UK’s version of the Manosphere? Or is he, too, as adrift and void as his junior?

At moments, Immortal Man boasts such striking visuals that it feels almost wasteful for most viewers to experience it at home, likely while distracted by their phones. Director of photography George Steel demonstrates a masterful command of composition and contrast. His team exquisitely captures the Northern English mist, the ancient stone architecture, and the twilight glow in such a evocative manner that one can practically feel the damp chill of the landscape.

Regrettably, these often painterly scenes are occasionally disrupted by a tendency towards visual melodrama, such as abrupt cuts to hazy, dreamlike sequences. Another noticeable visual element is the sheer abundance of sharp, angular cheekbones among the cast; there’s hardly a buccal fat pad in sight.

Immortal Man delivers a significant dose of bleakness, but it does so with undeniable flair.