Fuze Review | David Mackenzie’s Masterful Bait-And-Switch Heist Drama Is Explosively Fun

There are fewer films that are able to balance simultaneous conflicts and deliciously measured exposition with as much fun as David Mackenzie’s Fuze (2026) does. The film wastes little time establishing its central crisis. A bank robbery in broad-daylight is not that groundbreaking a premise. Yet, the narrative complicates matters by introducing an unexploded World War II bomb discovered in the heart of London.

The construction site discovery triggers citywide alarm, setting in motion a tightly controlled evacuation. As a ticking clock on the bomb exponentially increases stakes, much of the runtime is devoted to the painstaking effort required to neutralise it. The question of whether the bomb and the robbery are linked sustains curiosity, particularly as doubts emerge about the bomb’s authenticity and origins. 

For much of its brisk runtime of 98 minutes, Fuze functions as a precise procedural thriller, deriving satisfaction from process and logistics. Emergency protocols unfold swiftly and police cordon off the area while evacuation procedures begin under Chief Superintendent Zuzana (Gugu Mbatha-Raw). A military unit, led by Major Will Tranter (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), takes charge of the defusal operation.

At the same time, a group of criminals led by Karalis (Theo James) and his associate X (Sam Worthington) exploit the chaos to infiltrate a bank vault. The film’s primary fascination with the mechanics of the bomb carries its own intrigue, even as the broader scheme gradually reveals itself. Mackenzie’s direction retains a firm grip on staging, whether above ground in broad daylight or in the claustrophobic darkness beneath it. 

The film crosscuts between the delicate handling of the explosive and the brute force of the heist. Will hovers over the bomb, breath heavy, drill poised, while simultaneously elsewhere, metal drawers are wrenched open with brute aggression in a local bank. 

One group operates with coordinated trust, while the other navigates suspicion and potential betrayal. Writer Ben Hopkins complicates expectations, blurring the distinction between these dynamics. There are no overt romantic detours or extraneous side plots; the film remains focused, with a clear sense of purpose and direction. This does not mean it lacks tension, however. Distrust runs through every interaction, leaving the audience uncertain about where loyalties truly lie.

Fuze derives utmost pleasure from heavily relying on genre mechanics. As the narrative progresses, its threads converge only to branch outward again, introducing additional characters and shifting loyalties. There are hints that this is no opportunistic crime. A young corporal’s suspicion that the bomb may not be an authentic wartime relic suggests a deeper orchestration.Fuze derives utmost pleasure from heavily relying on genre mechanics. As the narrative progresses, its threads converge only to branch outward again, introducing additional characters and shifting loyalties. There are hints that this is no opportunistic crime. A young corporal’s suspicion that the bomb may not be an authentic wartime relic suggests a deeper orchestration.

Zuzana finds her attention divided between the disposal unit and unexplained heat signatures, while the narrative begins to sprawl. For a significant stretch, the film thrives on these ambiguities. It withholds answers out of the pleasure of watching systems collide and characters slowly piece things together. 

Motivations are withheld until late in the story and their eventual revelation feels more appended than organic. The momentum is so assured that it almost disguises how much information is being deferred. Early sequences employ familiar, yet effective visual techniques like uncomfortably tight close-ups and wide shots emphasising scale and brisk editing. This relentless pace sustains engagement, though it also contributes to a sense of narrative clutter once the two central strands collide.

The absence of a clear emotional anchor leaves the audience at a distance. Allegiances shift so frequently that rooting for any one character becomes secondary to simply keeping up. Characterisation remains the film’s weakest link. Great performances are committed across the board, with Taylor-Johnson and James leaning comfortably into their hardened personas, yet the script offers little beyond functional motivation. These figures simply exist to move the plot forward. This preferential detachment from the interiority of the characters diverted to the mechanics of bomb or the robbery, eventually weakens the impact.

When the narrative reaches its resolution and allegiances are clarified, there is little emotional investment to anchor the outcome. Even moments that hint at deeper context—scraps of backstory, fragments of explanation—arrive late. An unnecessary epilogue extends beyond the natural endpoint, revisiting material that required no further clarification. 

Despite these shortcomings, Fuze (2026) maintains a certain kinetic appeal. There is a charm in its refusal to become a preachy film on the ethics of robbery or the overt control of militant forces. Characters act in accordance with their own objectives, free from judgement or overdrawn emotional motivations. This neutrality allows the film to function as lean, uncomplicated entertainment, driven by tension and movement.

Ultimately, Fuze (2026) offers a compact, engaging thriller that understands the appeal of mechanical processes and the thrill of escalation.  Its flaws become more apparent in the final stretch, particularly with the addition of some uneven visual effects. Still, its brevity works in its favour. At its best, it trusts its mechanics to carry the story. At its weakest, it overcomplicates what was already working. Trimmed of its excess, Fuze stands as a brisk, entertaining ride.