Dredd

Let’s talk about Dredd, the 2012 reboot that nearly everyone forgot about until suddenly nobody could shut up about how underrated it is. I rewatched it recently and honestly, it still feels like a punchy little blast of sci-fi grit. If you’re tired of sleek, futuristic utopias and yearn for a world where things are run-down and the heroes are closer to anti-heroes, Dredd is probably your next Friday night pick. The flick doesn’t waste time dragging you through origin stories or unnecessary exposition—it just drops you straight into Mega City One’s chaotic, brutal world, where Judge Dredd is judge, jury, and yes, executioner.

The plot’s simple but not in a bad way. Dredd and his rookie partner, Anderson, get locked inside a 200-story apartment block run by a sadistic gang leader. Think The Raid but with body armor and more neon red lighting. The whole movie takes place almost entirely inside this high-rise, which gives it a tight, claustrophobic energy. I didn’t mind the limited setting because it makes every floor and every hallway feel consequential. With each sequence, you get a little more desperate to see daylight, which matches what the characters are going through.

Karl Urban deserves more action gigs because you never once see his face (except for below the nose), yet he manages to make Dredd intimidating, funny, and sometimes even a little bit human. He grunts out one-liners like “I am the law,” but never makes it cringe. Instead, he leans into the absurdity to the point where it works, and you buy that he’s been through this a thousand times before. His chemistry with Olivia Thirlby, who plays the psychic rookie Anderson, is actually the closest thing Dredd gets to emotional depth. She’s the soul of the movie: green but not naive, and tough without trying to be edgy.

The tone is relentless, but not in an exhausting Fast and Furious way. Action scenes are brutally efficient. There’s a sequence involving slow-motion drugs (Slo-Mo, in-universe) that turns gunfights into warped, beautiful carnage. Honestly, those scenes feel like a marriage between comic book panels and music videos, all glittering blood and sparkling glass. Somehow it avoids coming off as try-hard. Dredd doesn’t hide its roots; it just wants to show you how wild that world can get.

Cinematography is more stylish than you’d expect for what’s essentially a B-movie with an A-movie heart. Everything looks grimy and real, with splashes of color to keep it from being entirely desaturated misery. The set design is nasty in the best way—littered hallways, rusty doors, cramped living spaces. The violence can be a little much, but that’s the point: nothing about Mega City One is sanitized or safe. It’s violent, and everyone in it knows the world runs on fear.

If there’s a gripe to be had, it’s that the film is almost too lean. There are hints at deeper world-building—the Judges, the law, the city’s decline—but you only get scraps. Lena Headey is a great villain, but Ma-Ma never gets much beyond “ruthless gang boss with a scar.” I wanted just a little more from her, especially since Headey can add layers with a glance. Some of the other characters are basically redshirt fodder.

One thing I really wish had landed better is the sense of stakes. Sure, if Dredd and Anderson lose, a lot of people die, but the movie mostly keeps the threat contained to the building. You never really feel Mega City One as a living, breathing place beyond the apartment complex, so the ending is punchy but not quite sweeping. The flip side is that you aren’t bogged down by ambition beyond the story they’ve chosen to tell.

All that said, Dredd doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not—and I respect that. It’s the rare modern sci-fi action movie that is both self-aware and stubbornly committed to its own little universe. It walks a tightrope of ultraviolence and dark comedy, and mostly lands on its feet. Watching it is like biting into a jalapeño: not everyone will sign up for the burn, but if you’re into smart, mean, and stylish sci-fi, it’s worth the heat.