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

Peaky Blinders was a 2010s phenomenon that hinged on three core elements: vibes, vibes and Cillian Murphy looking irresistibly irascible on a horse.

The Birmingham-set British gangster period drama, set between 1919 and the mid-1930s, was sometimes superficially compared to The Sopranos during its early seasons — likely only because both TV series glorified violence, fetishized outsider status and worshipped bygone aesthetics of masculinity. The connections between the two shows are ultimately skin-deep, however, because The Sopranos maintained cinephilic pedantry while Peaky Blinders employed a bro-core vision of cool. The consummate Peaky Blinders tableau features hard rock and punk songs interwoven with images of stacked thugs in wool suits and newsboy caps striding around menacingly. Sometimes astride horses. If it makes you feel something, that’s great. The production design and photography were always top-notch, but the writing could never fulfill the promise of its atmosphere.

Personally, I always felt Peaky Blinders had more in common with Downton Abbey than other antihero dramas of the era. You know, just a bit of frothy fun that’s probably more appealing to look at than to pay deep attention to. The link between these two British crossover hits never felt more palpable to me than while watching Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man, a digestible but unaspiring two-hour feature-length film available on Netflix. It serves as an epilogue of sorts to the show, which ended in 2022 after a six-season run. It’s pretty to look at and the performances are indeed strong — particularly from Barry Keoghan, who seems to have sexual chemistry with every single screen partner, including a Nazi surrogate father, some random business owner he’s beating up and his character’s biological aunt. Yet even the fan service here seems swift and half-hearted, as if we’re churning through plot quickly just to get to some foretold conclusion. Tom Harper (Wild Rose) directs a script from show creator Steven Knight.

I’m the first to admit that one woman’s high drama is another woman’s corny soap opera. In this case, the overly simplistic and expository dialogue seems to suffer from a serious case of second screen-itis.

Murphy returns as Tommy Shelby, the forever-haunted former leader of the vicious but respected Peaky Blinders posse. When we got to know Tommy in the first season, he was a young man of Romani and Irish Traveller origins fresh out of serving in World War I and already making his mark on the Birmingham underworld with the aid of his unpredictable family. In Immortal Man, Tommy is now grizzled and grief-stricken. It’s 1940 and the Midlands are suffering the Blitz. At the series’ conclusion, after confronting his own falsely predicted death and facing the brutality of his legacy, Tommy burnt his Romani caravan and withdrew from all social ties. Years later, we see he hasn’t been living much of a life after all. He’s sequestered in a derelict estate shooting pigeons and writing his mea culpa autobiography on a creaky typewriter, plagued by apparitions of his young daughter long dead from tuberculosis. His troubled brother, Arthur (Paul Anderson), is no longer in his life for reasons that become clear soon enough.

Tommy is steadfastly uninterested in the fate of his crew without him until he’s visited by two semi-unwanted women: his strong-willed sister, Ada (Sophie Rundle), now a representative politician in their home district; and Kaulo (Rebecca Ferguson), a Romani woman who is tasked with leading Tommy to his ultimate destiny, or some such. Both women are a hero’s call to adventure catalyst straight out of Joseph Campbell. Ada brings him news that Birmingham is in shambles after an aerial strike and that his son is running the Blinders into the ground with immoral decisions and alliances. In the meantime, Kaulo — and yes, that is indeed Ferguson in a witchy black wig and vaguely Slavic accent — may or may not be literally switching spirits with her dead twin sister, the mother of Tommy’s illegitimate son.

Oh, and what a bastard he is! Late in the final Peaky Blinders season, Tommy was hit with the deus ex machina revelation of a long-lost son born to a “gypsy” named Zelda. (That terminology is used throughout this story universe seemingly in keeping with period lingo.) Formerly played by young actor Conrad Khan, Duke is now embodied by a desperate-to-please-any-available-daddy Keoghan in a bit of stunt casting. Nihilistic Duke claims to care about nothing and no one and, having taken over for his estranged father, has led the Blinders into criminal enterprises that actively threaten Britain’s efforts to stave off the German war machine. This includes stealing everything, from artillery intended for the frontlines to blocks of morphine meant for bombing victims. (He’s a baddun’, he is!)

Soon, Duke’s being courted by a mild-mannered British turncoat fascist named John Beckett (Tim Roth), who schemes to use German-made counterfeit currency to flood the British market and crash the economy. Sure, Duke is tempted by the megaload of cash he’ll make in the process, but he’s much more seduced by this almost comically fiendish villain telling him he wishes his own wimp son were manly like Duke.

Can Tommy Shelby rescue his antisocial son from the 1940s U.K. equivalent of the Manosphere? Or is he just as empty and untethered as junior?

At times, Immortal Man is so visually stunning that it seems a shame most people will catch it at home in between glancing at their phones. Director of photography George Steel showcases masterful use of composition and contrast. His team captures the Northern English mist, ancient city stones and crepuscular light in a such a sensuous way that it’s impossible not to feel the dewy chill of the geography.

Unfortunately, sometimes these painterly scenes are interrupted by a tendency toward visual cheesiness, such as editorial cuts to hazy reveries. Another visual motif also happens to be the sheer quantity of sharp-as-knives cheekbones at the ready among the cast. There’s nary a single buccal fat molecule in sight.

Immortal Man certainly is a lot of misery business, but the misery is done in high style.