Tom Hardy’s Alfie Solomons is back from the grave, and this time the mad dog’s off the leash—but on a silk one he holds himself.
Leaks are swirling, and they paint a delicious picture: Alfie didn’t just survive that bullet; he came out the other side distilled. Calmer. Sharper. The chaos is still there, bubbling under the surface like good rum, but now it’s controlled, weaponized. No more wild swings and biblical rants for the sake of spectacle. This Alfie knows exactly how dangerous he is, and he doesn’t need to shout it anymore—one quiet line, one slow tilt of the head, and entire rooms go still.

Hardy’s reportedly playing him like aged whiskey: smoother on the tongue, but it’ll still burn you alive. He’s not here to steal scenes; he’s here to own them without raising his voice. Word is he shares a couple of ice-cold exchanges with Cillian Murphy’s Tommy that feel like two apex predators circling the same watering hole, both too smart to lunge first.
If the rumors hold, this is peak Alfie: survived the worst, lost everything, and found a terrifying kind of peace in the ruins. Less barking mad, more quietly lethal.
Verdict on the return: Can’t b