All the Devils Are Here

There is a specific kind of tension that only arises when you put five of Britain’s most stressed-looking character actors in a damp room and tell them the exit is booby-trapped. All the Devils Are Here leans heavily into this "pressure cooker" aesthetic, clocking in at a lean, mean 87 minutes. In an era where even mediocre superhero sequels demand three hours of your life and a secondary mortgage for the popcorn, there is something deeply refreshing about a film that knows exactly when to quit. I watched this on a Tuesday afternoon while my neighbor was aggressively power-washing his driveway, and honestly, the rhythmic thrum of the water outside only added to the movie's sense of impending doom.

The Art of the Lean Mean Thriller

Director Barnaby Roper comes from the world of high-fashion filmmaking and music videos, which usually suggests a "style over substance" red flag. However, here he uses that background to make a derelict safehouse look like a claustrophobic purgatory. The premise is a tale as old as time: a heist has gone sideways (we never see the job, only the fallout), and four criminals are tucked away in a remote location waiting for "the boss" to call.

The "Contemporary Cinema" vibe is all over this. It feels built for the streaming age—high-concept, low-overhead, and driven by a cast that draws you in while you’re scrolling through a menu. But unlike the glut of "content" that feels like it was generated by an algorithm, this has a pulse. It’s a film that understands our current cultural anxiety; it’s about the total breakdown of trust within a small, isolated group. We live in an era of "who can you trust?" and Roper turns that dial until it snaps.

A Masterclass in Shifty Glances

The real draw here is the ensemble. If you’re a fan of British cinema, this cast list is essentially an Avengers-level lineup of "Hey, it’s that guy!" Eddie Marsan plays Ronnie Blake with that trademark simmering exhaustion he does so well. He looks like a man who hasn't slept since 1998, yet he’s clearly the most dangerous person in the room. Sam Claflin continues his "I’m more than just a pretty face" tour as Grady, sporting a ruggedness that feels earned rather than applied by the makeup department. Sam Claflin’s beard is doing 40% of the emotional heavy lifting in the second act, and I’m here for it.

Then there’s Burn Gorman, an actor who was seemingly born to play characters named things like "Numbers." He brings a twitchy, mathematical paranoia to the group that keeps the audience off-balance. Is he the weak link, or the only one seeing the truth? When Rory Kinnear eventually shows up as Harold Laing, the movie shifts gears from a paranoid mystery into a psychological chess match. The chemistry between these men is a collection of guys who look like they’ve been marinated in vinegar and bad intentions, and their bickering feels lived-in and lethal. Suki Waterhouse and Tienne Simon round out the group, providing a necessary friction that prevents the movie from becoming a total "blokes in a basement" cliché.

Style Over (Some) Substance

John Patrick Dover’s screenplay doesn't reinvent the wheel. If you’ve seen Reservoir Dogs or The Hateful Eight, you know the beats: the accusations, the "who has the gun?" moments, and the slow reveal of past sins. However, the film succeeds because it doesn't try to be an epic. It’s a snapshot of a moment. The cinematography by Peter Flinckenberg is icy and sharp, capturing the grit of the safehouse without making it look like a generic set.

The film does occasionally stumble into the "Streaming Thriller" trap of being a bit too polished. Everything is a little too clean for a bunch of guys who just committed a violent crime. I found myself wondering why Eddie Marsan didn't have a single drop of sweat on his brow during a particularly high-stakes standoff, but maybe he’s just that cool under pressure. There’s also a slight reliance on a "twist" that savvy viewers might see coming from the twenty-minute mark, but the performances are so strong that you don't mind being led down the garden path.

In the current landscape of franchise dominance, a mid-budget thriller that relies on dialogue and sweaty close-ups feels like a minor miracle. It’s not trying to set up a cinematic universe or sell you a lunchbox; it just wants to make you uncomfortable for an hour and a half.

All the Devils Are Here is a sharp, disciplined reminder that you don't need a hundred million dollars to build tension. While it might not rewrite the rules of the crime genre, it plays the hits with incredible precision. If you’ve got 90 minutes and an appetite for watching talented actors lie to each other, this is a safehouse worth visiting. Just don't expect everyone to make it out in one piece.