I love a good heist film: the sweat-browed tension of working against a ticking clock, the crime’s precise choreography, and the inevitable unraveling that pulls us to the edge of our seats with our nails properly chewed off.  Titles like The Italian Job, Ocean’s Eleven, and Heat are thrillingly complex and endlessly rewatchable classics because it’s fun to watch the game unfold and the players change throughout.  Bad guys become good, and heroes can turn villainous when you aren’t looking. Still, it’s become such a familiar playing field that everyone thinks they can take a turn.

Functional, slightly dented, but ultimately reliable—this is how one might describe the weathered armored vehicle that forms the focus of Armor, a micro-budget action thriller, but it could also describe its genre and its star, Sylvester Stallone.  Despite its ambitious attempts to bring intrigue with gritty action, it falters as much as it entertains, offering viewers just enough of a threadbare plot and character development to keep them from changing the channel.

James Brody (Jason Patric, Strange Darling) is a widower and recovering addict who is “doing the work” while holding down a job as an armored truck driver.  A former cop, Brody lost his wife (Erin Ownbey, Pain Hustlers) in a freak car accident years earlier, a loss he holds himself responsible for and a life event he and his son Casey (Josh Wiggins) haven’t fully dealt with.  As Casey is about to become a father himself, Brody has brought him into the business, but instead of bringing them closer together, it is exposing how much of an unspoken wedge has been driven between them.

Out on a seemingly routine delivery, things take a deadly turn when they’re ambushed on a derelict bridge, trapped and outnumbered by a group of masked assailants. As they fight to survive, the film teases a deeper mystery behind their cargo—a twist that’s ultimately less compelling than the film thinks it is. Leading the heist-mongers is Rook (Stallone, Creed), a muscled thief working for a paycheck just like Brody who needs to get into the armored truck by any means but who instead spends most of his time pacing the bridge like a man who wandered onto the wrong set.

Patric delivers a surprisingly nimble, restrained performance that injects much-needed weight into the proceedings. Known for his intensity in films like The Lost Boys, Rush, and Narc, Patric plays James with a quiet resolve, channeling a father’s desperation and guilt with noble sincerity. It’s a performance that belongs in a much better movie, as his effort often highlights the gulf between his dedication and the uneven script. Watching him dig into underwritten dialogue while several of his co-stars are a few steps above phoning it in is a stark reminder of what Armor could have been.

In contrast, Stallone approaches his role with the self-aware nonchalance of an action icon no longer in Rocky or Rambo mode. His presence feels more like a nod to nostalgia than a serious attempt to play the heavy.  There’s a faint charm in his portrayal (something Stallone has always been good at) as if he’s in on the joke, but his lack of energy and minimal action sequences leave one wondering if even he found the material uninspiring.  He doesn’t act as much as exists within the film’s set parameters, and his occasional bursts of dialogue feel more like obligations than creative expressions.

The supporting crew continues the uneven distribution of power.  Dash Mihok’s (Deep Water) turn as the unhinged Smoke offers a burst of energy, but his erratic, almost cartoonish performance clashes with the film’s mostly somber, serious tone. It’s as though he wandered in from a completely different film, making his scenes more jarring than entertaining.  Wiggins is serviceable, but he shares so many scenes with Patric, who acts circles around him, that he can only suffer by the nearest comparison.  Meanwhile, the rest of the ensemble, including Blake Shields and Joshua David Whites, fail to distinguish themselves much, delivering performances so interchangeable they could have swapped lines with little consequence.

Director Justin Routt deserves credit for doing a lot with very little, particularly in using the film’s singular location. The decaying bridge becomes a character in its own right, its bleak atmosphere underscoring the story’s thin themes of isolation and entrapment. Unfortunately, this creative choice is undermined by the film’s pacing. An extended flashback awkwardly interrupts the narrative midway through, stalling what little momentum had been built. Instead of heightening tension, the flashback feels like an unnecessary detour, stretching the worn-out plot even further.

The screenplay, by Adrian Speckert and Cory Todd Hughes, attempts to elevate Armor beyond a basic action thriller and Panic Room retread by delving into the strained relationship between James and Casey.  It’s encouraging to see that both writers appear to understand that contemporary audiences want something more than mere explosions (though those are great fun, too!).  There are moments of genuine emotional significance as the two grapple with guilt, loss, and the need for redemption, but these are fleeting and sometimes even distracting when they interrupt other pivotal sequences. Predictable twists and sluggish pacing drain the story’s urgency, turning what should be a race against time into a plodding exercise in patience. While well-intentioned, the father-son dynamic feels like a missed opportunity—present but underdeveloped.

Despite these flaws, there are glimmers of potential. The action sequences, while sparse, are competently executed, and the film occasionally captures the visceral, claustrophobic energy that defines the best heist thrillers. Yet these moments are too few and far between to redeem the overall experience. The script’s efforts to balance character development with genre thrills never fully coalesce, leaving both elements feeling half-baked. Fans of Stallone’s late-career action films may find enough here to justify a casual watch, but for a film centered on armored protection, Armor feels curiously fragile—serviceable for a moment but ultimately forgettable.