‘Man on Fire’ Review: Netflix Turns the Denzel Washington Classic Into a Hard-Edged Series
A traumatized ex-CIA operative protects a teenage survivor while uncovering a deadly conspiracy, battling his past and enemies closing in from all sides.
AJ. Quinnell’s novel Man on Fire has already had two screen incarnations. The first came in 1987, starring Scott Glenn. The second—and by far the most widely known—is the 2004 version, directed by Tony Scott and powered by the formidable presence of Denzel Washington as CIA operative John Creasy. Unlike those films, this seven-episode series gives Kyle Killen (Halo) room to expand, stretch, reshape—and, at times, overextend—the material, sending the story down increasingly unlikely paths before arriving at its conclusion. Or at least at the end of its first season.
Man on Fire feels very much like Netflix trying to engineer its own version of Jack Reacher: a solitary, damaged vigilante operating outside institutional rules, relying on methods that are, at best, morally questionable. As in previous adaptations, Creasy is a deeply troubled, alcoholic figure who drifts into his dangerous line of work less out of duty than circumstance. That instability is established early on—true to the platform’s usual playbook—when we see Creasy (Wonder Man‘s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, a worthy successor to Washington) barely survive a botched operation in which his entire team is killed.
Hoping to pull him out of his long-standing psychological spiral and near-suicidal state, his friend and former superior, Paul Rayburn (Bobby Cannavale), recruits him for a job in Rio de Janeiro. The assignment: help protect Brazil’s president from potential terrorist attacks targeting newly constructed government buildings (in Scott’s film, the action was set in Mexico). Creasy is still drinking heavily, his physical edge dulled, his focus compromised—but he takes the job anyway, promising to quit alcohol. He moves in with Rayburn, his wife, their two young children, and Poe (Billie Boullet), his rebellious teenage daughter.
Things escalate quickly. (Spoiler for the end of episode one) The Rayburns’ apartment building is blown to pieces, killing the entire family except for Poe—who had snuck out to meet her boyfriend and witnesses the explosion just before returning—and Creasy himself, who happens to be elsewhere in the city, drunk and getting into trouble. With the help of Valeria (Alice Braga), a taxi driver who becomes his de facto accomplice, Creasy rescues Poe and goes on the run. The attackers are now after the girl, assuming she saw something.
From there on, Man on Fire shifts into full chase mode. Authorities hunt the pair—hinting that Creasy may be responsible for the attack—while they hide out in a favela. At the same time, he begins piecing together who was really behind the bombing that killed his friend and family. Back in the United States, his former CIA boss, Henry Tappan (Scoot McNairy), works behind the scenes to help them escape. Employing increasingly extreme methods—ranging from piloting a plane through the city to moments that edge into outright torture—Creasy tries to protect Poe while confronting his own trauma and searching for a form of redemption.
The show delivers exactly what one would expect from this kind of series: intense action set pieces, personalized confrontations, a plot entangling mafias, criminals, bureaucrats, and intelligence agencies, plus a web of political intrigue tied to the CIA. At its center is the evolving relationship between Creasy and Poe, which gradually softens him, drawing out whatever remains of his humanity. As is often the case with expanded TV storytelling, the narrative also indulges in detours—false leads, unnecessary complications—that ultimately feel designed less to deepen the story than to set up a potential second season.
It’s not a great series, but it works reasonably well thanks largely to Abdul-Mateen II’s performance. He combines physical presence with genuine dramatic weight, grounding the material and, at times, elevating it beyond what the fairly conventional script offers. The plot twists are neither particularly original nor especially surprising, but they function within Killen’s framework.
Even so, the 2004 film by Tony Scott and Denzel Washington—while not among their very best collaborations—remains the strongest version of this story. It’s also available on Netflix, and for those with the time or curiosity, watching both makes for an easy and revealing comparison.
