I went into "Code 3" expecting a light buddy-comedy with some heart. What I got instead was a relentlessly intense, stomach-churning plunge into the fractured world of paramedics—one that earns its laughs and wears its anxiety on its sleeve.
Right off the bat Rainn Wilson commits fully to Randy—the worn-out, cynical paramedic determined to ride this one last shift before jumping ship. It’s a choice role for him: the humour is dark, the fatigue palpable, and he drags us into his world with both charm and simmering despair. The script (co-written by a real lifer in EMS) gives him licence to address the audience, and peel back the fourth wall as he describes what it’s like to be “your best friend on your worst day.”
One of the reasons as to why Code 3 worked so well for me, is due to how it balances the kinetic with the reflective. The opening starts with absurd, almost darkly comic calls: half-naked patients, screaming delusions, over-worked hospitals. Then it crashes into something far more unforgiving, driven by lethal pacing that's skillfully erratic, and an increasingly worn out and f*cked off Wilson, resulting in a wild 90-odd minutes that leave you a little drained. But it's intentional: this job is exhausting, and the film replicates that extremely well. Just as it does with the jobs smaller, more fleeting and precious moments of levity and reward–seeing somebody you saved, live to see another day.
The dark comedy is much more than flavour — it’s survival mechanism. When you’re force-fed one crisis after another, the only way to keep going is to laugh, and Code 3 doesn’t shy away from that. But it also doesn’t let you laugh in comfort. The comic relief is always hovering in the shadows of tragedy.
What truly elevates the film is its unapologetic commentary on the system. Randy isn’t just battling blood and broken bones; he’s battling bureaucracy, burnout, the feeling that he’s unseen while carrying people literally in his arms. When hospital staff brush him off or protocols fail, the anger is real. It doesn’t ask for your pity—it demands reckoning, and just a little god damn respect.
There are moments where the narrative strains a little. Some tonal swings feel abrupt, some character beats could use more room to breathe. A few of the fourth-wall interludes, while grounded in reality, pulled me out of the urgency just a bit. But in this case, the small missteps don’t erase the considerable wins.
Ultimately, "Code 3" was one of the most surprising thrillrides this year. You leave it with adrenaline still in your system, a new respect for the folks who run toward the fire when everyone else runs away, and a quiet ache for how thankless it all can be. It’s not perfect—but it hits hard, it matters, and it lingers.
8/10
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