William Tell

The crossbow is the original sniper rifle, a weapon of terrifying mechanical patience that turns a peasant into a god-killer. In Nick Hamm’s William Tell, we see that tension ratcheted up until the wood nearly snaps. I watched this film while nursing a slightly burnt tongue from a piece of over-microwaved leftover pizza, and honestly, that sharp, localized pain felt strangely appropriate for a movie so obsessed with the precision of a bolt hitting its mark. It is a film that feels like it belongs to a different era—perhaps the mid-90s, when historical epics were allowed to be earnest, bloody, and slightly grimy—yet it arrived in 2025 with almost no fanfare, a ghost in the machine of the modern box office.

A Stoic Hero for a Loud Era

At the center of this rebellion is Claes Bang, an actor who possesses the kind of rugged, vertical gravitas that makes you believe he could actually survive a 14th-century winter without a North Face jacket. Bang plays Tell not as a caped crusader, but as a man who is profoundly annoyed that history won’t leave him alone. After a decade of superhero fatigue and "chosen ones" who spend three movies whining about their destiny, there’s something deeply satisfying about a protagonist who just wants to hunt and be left in peace. Bang brings a weary, muscular humanity to the role, reminding me why he was so captivating in The Square—he has a way of looking at the world that suggests he’s seen the ending and isn’t particularly impressed.

The narrative follows the familiar beats of the Swiss legend: the Austrian Empire is expanding, the local warlords are sadistic, and eventually, a hat is placed on a pole and everyone is told to bow. It’s the kind of high-stakes political theater that feels eerily relevant in our current climate of "bow or be canceled" discourse, though Hamm’s script stays firmly in the mud and stone of the 1300s. The film doesn't try to be a meta-commentary on modern borders; it just wants to show you how hard it is to feed a family when an empire is breathing down your neck.

Momentum and Metal

As an action film, William Tell understands that clarity is a virtue. In a post-John Wick world, audiences have grown tired of the "shaky-cam" chaos that defined the early 2000s. Hamm and cinematographer Jamie D. Ramsay opt for a more deliberate, grounded approach. The action choreography isn't about spinning kicks or gravity-defying stunts; it’s about the weight of armor and the frantic, ugly business of survival. When the arrows fly, they thud with a sickening finality.

I particularly appreciated the way the film treats the crossbow itself. It’s a slow weapon. You have to crank it, tension it, and pray. This creates a natural rhythm of "hurry up and wait" that builds genuine suspense during the set pieces. However, the pacing does occasionally stumble when the film pivots to the broader political machinations of the Austrian court. Connor Swindells (whom I still can't help but associate with the hormone-fueled chaos of Sex Education) plays the villainous Gessler with a sneering, youthful arrogance that makes you want to see him get punched. He’s effective, but the film sometimes feels like it’s auditioning for a much longer miniseries during its middle hour, losing the tight focus on Tell’s personal stakes.

The Mystery of the Missing Audience

The most fascinating thing about William Tell isn't on the screen, but in the ledger. Despite a solid cast including Golshifteh Farahani and the legendary Rafe Spall, the film’s box office performance was practically invisible. In our current streaming-dominated landscape, a mid-budget historical epic is a rare beast. It’s too expensive to be a "small indie" and too niche to be a "global blockbuster." Released in a year where audiences were largely chasing established IP or viral social media trends, this film seems to have fallen through the cracks of the theater-to-streaming pipeline.

It’s a shame, because the production design by Tempo Productions is genuinely impressive. The castles look damp, the forests look cold, and the costumes don't look like they were pulled from a dry cleaner. There is a tactile reality here that you just don't get from the "Volume" or LED-wall productions that have become the industry standard. Steven Price’s score also does a lot of heavy lifting, providing a driving, percussive energy that keeps the blood pumping even when the plot takes a breather. It’s a film that deserves to be seen on a large screen, yet it will likely find its true life as a "hidden gem" discovered by people scrolling through a digital library on a rainy Tuesday night.

William Tell is a sturdy, well-built piece of historical entertainment that doesn't reinvent the wheel but knows exactly how to make it turn. It suffers from a few "epic" cliches and a runtime that feels its weight in the second act, but the central performance by Claes Bang and the gritty commitment to practical action make it a worthy watch for anyone who misses the days when movies felt like they were made of wood and iron. It’s a quiet reminder that sometimes the most radical thing a person can do is refuse to bow to a hat on a pole.