The filmmaker and his two leading actors discuss guilt, political violence, conspiracy theories and mortality in McDonagh’s latest film, a dark comedy set against the legacy of the Cold War.
Sam Rockwell cannot stop praising John Malkovich. He describes his co-star as charismatic, dangerous and uniquely compelling, with a blend of masculine and feminine qualities that makes him an exceptional actor and sparring partner. Then, midway through his tribute, Rockwell turns towards Malkovich on the couch.
“Earmuffs!” he announces before continuing. He knows Malkovich dislikes being showered with compliments, although the older actor insists he does not mind.
The exchange captures the relationship between the two actors in Wild Horse Nine, Martin McDonagh’s latest film, in which they play CIA agents whose constant bickering suggests a complicated friendship beneath the hostility.
The story begins in the aftermath of the 1973 coup in Chile, which the two agents have helped plan. Now stationed on Rapa Nui, also known as Easter Island, they find themselves surrounded by volcanic landscapes, crashing waves and the island’s monumental stone statues. Both men carry the burden of their past, but Chris, played by Malkovich, has an additional problem: he is dying of cancer.
He has one final request for his colleague Lee, played by Rockwell.
“Shoot me in the head on Easter Island,” he tells him.
A darker, more reflective McDonagh
McDonagh has built his reputation on combining absurd humour with sudden, often shocking violence. From In Bruges to The Banshees of Inisherin, his films have paired eccentric characters with stories of cruelty, regret and unexpected tenderness.
Wild Horse Nine retains that distinctive mix, but its atmosphere is more sombre. Death and the weight of history loom over the characters, giving the film a reflective quality that McDonagh says may reflect his own changing perspective.
“I’m getting older,” he says. “Maybe this is my first old-man movie.”
At the beginning of his screenplay, the filmmaker wrote two words to guide the story: “GUILT” and “REGRET”. They set the tone for a narrative that moves from Santiago to the South Pacific, following a veteran intelligence officer whose memories are filled with episodes from the darkest chapters of American history.
Chris believes he knows who killed President John F. Kennedy and is preparing to reveal what he knows. His superiors, meanwhile, are desperate to ensure that the secrets he carries die with him.
For McDonagh, the Kennedy assassination remains a defining moment in the erosion of American public trust. He is unconvinced by the official account, although he acknowledges that the full truth may never be established.
“I definitely think there was something going on,” he says. “I’m definitely a believer in the conspiracy.”
He considers it likely that Lee Harvey Oswald was involved, but rejects the idea that Oswald acted alone. When asked about long-standing speculation linking the assassination to the father of actor Woody Harrelson, McDonagh responds by miming zipping his lips.
“I know nothing,” he says.
Political violence in a more brazen era
Although Wild Horse Nine was not conceived as a commentary on contemporary American politics, events during filming gave its themes a renewed relevance. The production coincided with Donald Trump’s military action against Venezuela, prompting McDonagh to reflect on how the exercise of American power has changed.
He argues that earlier forms of political repression and intervention were more likely to be concealed, whereas governments today appear increasingly willing to act openly.
McDonagh does not consider Trump the worst US president of the past six decades. He points instead to Richard Nixon, George W. Bush and Lyndon B. Johnson, whose presidencies were associated with different episodes of political controversy and military violence.
“The difference is that with old-timey fascism, you at least had to keep it secret,” he says. “These days you don’t have to hide it any more. Is that more fucked? Or is it more honest?”
The question echoes the film’s central concern: what happens when people who have participated in covert operations begin to confront the consequences of their actions, while the institutions behind them remain determined to protect their secrets?
Malkovich and Rockwell: two contrasting performers
Away from the film’s political themes, the contrast between its leading actors is immediately apparent. Rockwell is animated and playful, moving rapidly between stories and jokes. Malkovich, by comparison, is measured and inscrutable, delivering his remarks with the same controlled intensity that has defined many of his screen performances.
Rockwell, who won an Oscar for his role in McDonagh’s Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, is particularly enthusiastic about working with his co-star. Malkovich, now 72, brings a theatrical intensity to Chris, a character who can be vicious and vulnerable, self-destructive and suddenly remorseful.
The performance earned a lengthy ovation at the film’s premiere in Venice, where the audience reportedly applauded for 13 minutes.
Malkovich says the role demanded extensive preparation. He and Rockwell rehearsed scenes repeatedly, sometimes running through them on weekends.
“Sam and I did each scene at least a thousand times,” he says.
Rockwell agrees with the estimate, calling Malkovich a “workhorse”. The older actor returns the compliment, noting that every performer has a different approach to preparation. Clint Eastwood, for example, prefers to move quickly into filming and can be difficult to persuade to allow additional takes.
The two actors spent six weeks filming on Rapa Nui, an isolated setting that helped them focus on their work. For Malkovich, however, the long stay meant being separated from his grandchildren.
“I don’t like being away from my grandchildren,” he says, adding that the island’s lack of distractions made it an excellent place to shoot. Apart from swimming with turtles, there was little to do outside work.
Rockwell remembers the experience more fondly, describing evenings spent drinking Chilean wine and rum. When he struggles to remember the name of a cocktail made with sugarcane and egg white, his partner, actor Leslie Bibb, supplies the answer: a pisco sour.
Rockwell is delighted, then turns back to Malkovich to admire his appearance. “Look at him, he’s beautiful,” he says.
A lifetime of doubts about official narratives
The questions raised by Wild Horse Nine have long interested Malkovich. In 1994, he adapted and directed a stage production of Libra, Don DeLillo’s novel about Lee Harvey Oswald. He also studied the famous Zapruder film, which captured Kennedy’s final moments, and explored competing theories surrounding the assassination.
Malkovich concluded that the Warren Commission’s findings were either flawed or dishonest. He recognises that such views can invite ridicule, but points out that scepticism about the official account is widespread among Americans.
“Could the official story be true? Yeah, I guess. So could Keebler elves,” he says, questioning the credibility of government explanations.
His distrust extends beyond the Kennedy assassination. Malkovich says he has not voted since the 1972 presidential election, when Democrat George McGovern lost decisively to Nixon.
He recalls telling his father on election night that he was finished with the political process. His father urged him to reconsider, but Malkovich says the decision stayed with him.
“I’m not a believer,” he says.
Asked whether he means democracy itself, he shrugs and replies: “In the whole thing, really.”
Rockwell takes a different approach. He still votes, though without much optimism. Asked what he hopes for politically, he jokes that he wishes Barack Obama would return.
Their contrasting outlooks reflect the broader tensions running through McDonagh’s film: the difference between withdrawal and engagement, between those who no longer believe in institutions and those who continue to participate despite their doubts.
A final act, preferably on stage
Death is never far from Wild Horse Nine. Chris begins by wanting to die on Rapa Nui, before changing his mind and deciding that Venice would be a better place for his final moments.
Asked where he would choose to die if he could arrange the scene himself, Malkovich gives an unexpected answer.
“Probably on stage,” he says.
He recalls touring in an opera inspired by the memoirs of Casanova. The production opened with Casanova chasing a chambermaid before suffering a heart attack. The action then stopped as medical staff and a stretcher appeared, only for the cast to break into song.
Malkovich made a point of warning his friends beforehand that the heart attack was fictional. But he forgot to tell his agent, who witnessed the scene without knowing it was part of the performance. On another occasion, he made the same mistake with a friend who was a doctor.
The result was repeated panic in the audience, with as many as 20 people rushing towards the stage, believing they were witnessing a real medical emergency.
Rockwell laughs at the story. “That’s good acting,” he says.
Malkovich disagrees. “Well no, it’s terrible,” he replies. Still, he concedes that it would not be the worst way to go.
For a film preoccupied with secrets, guilt and the possibility of redemption, it is an appropriately theatrical final thought: even death, it seems, can become a performance — provided the audience knows when to applaud.
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