Samaritan

There is something strangely comforting about watching Sylvester Stallone crush a heavy-duty trash compactor with his bare hands. I watched Samaritan on a rainy Tuesday evening while nursing a lukewarm cup of peppermint tea that I’d forgotten to sweeten, and honestly, that slightly bitter, grey-skied vibe matched the movie perfectly. It’s a film that feels like a sturdy, well-worn leather jacket—a bit stiff in the shoulders and smelling faintly of motor oil, but it gets the job done when the wind picks up.

In an era where we are drowning in the colorful, quippy, multiversal soup of the MCU and DCU, Samaritan arrives like a grumpy uncle at a birthday party who just wants to talk about how they don’t build cars like they used to. Set in the crumbling, rain-slicked streets of Granite City, the story follows young Sam Cleary (Javon Walton), a kid who is convinced his garbage-man neighbor, Joe Smith, is actually a legendary superhero who allegedly died in a fiery warehouse explosion twenty-five years ago.

The Weight of Granite City

What I appreciate about director Julius Avery—who previously gave us the delightfully bonkers Nazi-zombie flick Overlord—is his commitment to texture. Granite City isn't a gleaming metropolis; it’s a graveyard of industrial ambition. It’s the kind of place where people scavenge for copper wire to pay rent, which gives the film a grounded, "Contemporary Cinema" edge. We aren't looking at shiny capes here; we’re looking at Sylvester Stallone in five layers of hoodies trying to hide his "old man strength."

The action choreography reflects this grit. When Joe finally stops hiding and starts hitting people, the impact feels heavy. There’s a specific scene where he uses a massive sledgehammer that reminded me why Stallone is the king of physical presence. He doesn't move like a ninja; he moves like a landslide. Apparently, Stallone was heavily involved in the stunt design through his Balboa Productions banner, ensuring the fights felt more like "street brawling with a power boost" than choreographed ballet. It’s refreshing to see a "superhero" movie where the most dangerous weapon is a guy who simply refuses to fall down.

A Streaming-Era Subversion

Released directly to Amazon Prime Video after a series of pandemic-related delays, Samaritan is a fascinating case study in how the streaming landscape allows for these "mid-budget" experiments that might have struggled at the 2022 box office. Interestingly, the film was originally slated for a wide theatrical release by MGM before the Amazon acquisition changed the game. While some might argue it lacks the "theatrical polish," I think its smaller scale is its secret weapon. The script, written by Bragi F. Schut and based on his own Mythos Comics graphic novels, is basically a glorified episode of 'Hoarders' with superpowers, and I mean that as a genuine compliment.

The film leans into the "legacy sequel" trope without actually being a sequel. It feeds our obsession with "what happened to the heroes of our youth?" but twists the answer. Pilou Asbæk (who I’ll always remember as the guy who made Game of Thrones even weirder) plays the villainous Cyrus with a manic, fanboy energy. He doesn't want to destroy the world; he wants to be the new version of the "villain" Nemesis. It’s a clever nod to how modern fan culture can sometimes weaponize nostalgia in dangerous ways.

The Stunts and the Secret Sauce

If you’re a trivia nut, you’ll love the fact that the production actually took over large swathes of downtown Atlanta to stand in for Granite City, using practical fire and real vehicle flips whenever possible. Even the opening flashback, which uses some reasonably impressive de-aging tech on Stallone to show the brothers' final fight, feels more like a memory than a video game cutscene.

However, the film’s real "cult" potential lies in its big third-act pivot. Without spoiling it, let’s just say the movie asks a very pointed question about whether "good" and "bad" are just labels we put on the winners. It’s a bit of a clunky narrative hand-brake turn, but it’s the kind of choice that makes a movie stick in your brain longer than a polished, focus-grouped blockbuster. I also loved seeing Dascha Polanco as Sam's mother; she brings a necessary dose of "real-world" stakes to a plot that could have easily drifted into cartoon territory.

The film does occasionally stumble into clichés. Moisés Arias plays a low-level thug named Reza who seems to have graduated from the "Generic Bully Academy," and the pacing in the middle stretches can feel a bit like Joe’s garbage truck—slow and prone to stopping at every block. But when the climax hits and the fire starts roaring, those 102 minutes feel like time well spent.

Ultimately, Samaritan is a movie for people who miss the era of the "muscular thriller" but want a modern, slightly cynical coat of paint on it. It’s not trying to launch a twenty-film universe; it’s just trying to tell a story about a kid, a hammer, and a guy who’s tired of being a legend. It’s the kind of film that will find a permanent home on "Best Underrated Action" lists for years to come, long after the flashier capes have faded. If you’ve got a free evening and a penchant for watching Stallone look disappointed at society before punching a wall, you’re in for a treat.