The Hollow Satire of 'How to Make a Killing': When 'Eat the Rich' Loses Its Bite
There’s something deeply unsatisfying about a film that tries to skewer the wealthy but ends up feeling like a toothless parody of its own ambitions. How to Make a Killing, John Patton Ford’s latest venture, is a prime example. Billed as a modern take on the classic Kind Hearts and Coronets, it’s less of a reimagining and more of a pale imitation—one that loses the original’s razor-sharp wit and moral ambiguity in favor of a muddled, half-hearted critique of the 1%.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film tries to straddle two eras: the biting satire of Ealing comedies and the contemporary appetite for ‘eat the rich’ narratives. But it fails to commit to either. Personally, I think the problem lies in its protagonist, Becket Redfellow (Glen Powell), who is neither charming enough to root for nor despicable enough to hate. He’s a moral void, but not in the intriguing way that Dennis Price’s character was in the 1949 original. Instead, Becket feels like a placeholder, a character so devoid of depth that he becomes a mere vehicle for the plot.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s attempt to inject moral righteousness into a story that thrives on amorality. Becket kills his wealthy relatives not to redistribute their wealth or expose systemic inequality, but to inherit it himself. It’s a selfish motive, and yet the film seems reluctant to judge him for it. This raises a deeper question: can a story about greed and murder ever be satisfying if it refuses to take a stance on its protagonist’s actions?
From my perspective, the film’s biggest missed opportunity is its handling of class dynamics. Becket’s backstory—a Long Island heiress mother exiled by her wealthy father, a whispered wish for her son to live “the right kind of life”—could have been a powerful exploration of generational trauma and the corrupting influence of wealth. Instead, it’s reduced to a superficial plot point, a mere justification for Becket’s actions. What this really suggests is that the film is more interested in ticking off narrative beats than in engaging with its themes in a meaningful way.
Margaret Qualley’s Julia Steinway, on the other hand, is a revelation. Her repressed mania adds a spark of life to an otherwise flat film, and her chemistry with Powell is one of the few things that works. But even her character feels underutilized, as if she’s been borrowed from a far more interesting movie. What many people don’t realize is that a strong supporting cast can’t save a weak protagonist, and How to Make a Killing is a textbook example of this.
The film’s attempt to contrast Julia with Jessica Henwick’s Ruth—a character who embodies authenticity and personal fulfillment—feels forced. It’s as if the film is trying to say something profound about the trade-offs between wealth and happiness, but it never quite gets there. If you take a step back and think about it, the entire narrative feels like a sentimental family comedy with a body count, a strange hybrid that never fully commits to its darker elements.
What’s most disappointing is how the film squanders its potential. With a talented cast and a premise ripe for satire, How to Make a Killing could have been a sharp commentary on wealth, morality, and the lengths people will go to secure their place at the top. Instead, it’s a limp, unfocused effort that leaves you wondering what could have been.
In my opinion, the film’s failure lies in its reluctance to embrace the very thing that makes its source material so enduring: moral ambiguity. Kind Hearts and Coronets worked because it didn’t shy away from the darkness of its protagonist. How to Make a Killing, however, tries to have it both ways, and in doing so, loses its edge.
As we continue to grapple with the realities of wealth inequality and the moral complexities of ‘eating the rich,’ films like this feel like a missed opportunity. They remind us that satire, at its best, should be fearless—and that’s something How to Make a Killing never quite manages to be.
