I'm the Angel of Death: Pusher III (2005)

In this third installment of the 'Pusher' trilogy, we follow Milo ('Zlatko Buric'), the drug lord from the two first films. He is aging, he is planning his daughter's 25th birthday and his shipment of heroin turns out to be 10.000 pills of ecstasy. When Milo tries to sell the pills anyway, all Hell breaks loose and his only chance is to ask for help from his ex-henchman and old friend Radovan (Slavko Labovic).



Capping his Pusher trilogy with its most gripping and incisive installment, Nicolas Winding Refn doesn’t provide closure to his saga with I’m the Angel of Death; rather, he expands its overarching vision of underworld nastiness, the universal yearning for escape, and the cruel hand of fate. Refn’s multi-character tale here turns its attention to Bosnian drug dealer Milo (Zlatko Buric), whose visits to support groups to maintain his five-day sobriety are hopelessly undone by his work orchestrating (and semi-competently cooking dinner for) a lavish 25th birthday party for his spoiled daughter Milena (Marinela Dekic). As if pulling off that event weren’t enough, he’s also compelled to manage a botched ecstasy deal that has him simultaneously hunting for wannabe-big shot Mohammed (Ilyas Agac) and trying to deal with the Albanian to whom he owes money. Refn’s hovering, spinning camera – so often moving with impulsive freedom, and yet constantly capturing well-framed visions of camaraderie and callousness – generates its usual high-wired dread. Yet it’s the director’s prolonged detail-oriented staging that’s truly energized, especially during a lengthy sequence in which Milo is forced by his Albanian benefactors, who now see him as a permanent indentured servant, to wait on them while the sale of a teen prostitute is consummated, a scene that boasts near-blistering slow-burn intensity. As Milo is reduced from being a loving (and drug-free) father to a cold, vicious monster faced with greed, duplicity and brutality from family and colleagues alike, Buric’s sweaty, flabby countenance goes stone-cold vacant, eventually turning heroin-induced granite as he’s driven – in a finale during which Refn lays bare the inhuman butchery that defines the crime world – to abandon dreams of rehab, roll up his sleeves, and get his hands dirty carrying out his bloody profession.

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