Not because it was good—it wasn't. But because it marked the tragic derailment of one of the most promising directors of the past decade.
J.C. Chandor was supposed to be the heir to ‘70s cinema. His debut, Margin Call, was Wall Street with teeth. Then came All is Lost, a nearly wordless survival tale that should've earned Robert Redford an Oscar. And A Most Violent Year? That was pure New York noir—Gordon Willis shadows and Sidney Lumet grit.
So when he signed on for Kraven, a middling Marvel IP about a fur-wearing hunter with daddy issues, cinephiles raised an eyebrow. When the movie cratered, that eyebrow became a collective eyeroll. What the hell happened?
Well, here's the twist. Chandor isn't down for the count. According to Deadline, he's about to pull a Soderbergh—disappearing into genre only to come back sharper. His next move? Zebra Killers, a Sony-backed, contemporary thriller with the smell of money, murder, and family dysfunction all over it.
Think Succession meets Erin Brockovich—but make it deadly.
Plot details are under lock and key (as all good thrillers should be), but early whispers suggest Zebra Killers follows the fallout of a suspicious death inside a wealthy dynastic family. Intrigue. Corruption. Possibly a courtroom. Maybe a cover-up. Roman Vasyanov, the cinematographer behind Fury, is on board—meaning the lens will likely bleed intensity.
This isn't just a rebound. It's a full-on career resuscitation.
The industry loves a comeback story. Think Ben Affleck post-Gigli. Or Shyamalan crawling out of his Avatar: The Last Airbender hole to deliver The Visit. If Chandor plays this right, Zebra Killers could be his Gone Girl—a prestige-tinged popcorn flick that thrills both critics and audiences.
And it comes at the right time. We're in a moment when audiences are starved for intelligent thrillers. Gone are the days of Michael Clayton, The Insider, even The Firm. The few that do break through (The Menu, Anatomy of a Fall) are treated like endangered species.
Chandor could bring the genre back—not with flashy CGI, but with moral ambiguity and razor-sharp tension. That's the Chandor who mattered. The one who knew how to turn a boardroom or a Brooklyn street corner into a war zone of ideals.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: Kraven wasn't the betrayal. Hollywood was. It forced a filmmaker with a voice into a costume he never should've worn.
Now? He's stripping it off.
Would you trust a director burned by Marvel to bring you back to cinema's golden shadows? Or is Chandor's prestige pass permanently revoked?
Drop your thoughts below.
