(3 / 5)
Everyone looks cool in leathers.
This would seem to be the main ethos behind Jeff Nichols’ The Bikeriders.
Based loosely on Danny Lyon’s photo-book of the same name, compiled from 1963-’67, the film follows the Vandals, a fictionalized Midwest motorcycle club composed mostly, in this telling, of movie stars and characters actors.
Structured through repeated check-ins between the straight-talking Kathy (Jodie Comer), partner to biker Benny (Austin Butler), and interviewer Danny (Mike Faist), the mood is that of a greaser Goodfellas – dramatic freeze-frames and freewheeling needle-drops – though the Vandals are a comparatively saintly organisation. Only once in the film’s runtime do they really live up to their name, albeit in spectacular and, again, Scorsesian fashion.
Gang leader Johnny (Tom Hardy) is a family man whose inspiration for the club, one of the first of its era, comes from an amusingly on-the-nose source.1 Kathy’s beau, Billy (Austin Butler), may look like he’s stepped out of a perfume ad, but his seemingly soulful nature belies a swing-first-hey-wait-there-are-questions-? approach that gets him to trouble.
Even the more “undesirable” elements – frequent Nichols collaborator Michael Shannon as a bushy-bearded anti-Communist; Norman Reedus as the shark-eyed, shark-toothed “Funny” Sonny – are essentially harmless. The guy nicknamed Cockroach (Emory Cohen) turns out to be surprisingly wholesome.
Adam Stone’s cinematography brings the period to immersive life, capturing the New Journalistic essence of Lyon’s original images, and Julie Monroe’s editing curates a shaggy-dog story into an efficient scrapbook, but The Bikeriders is too focused on the myth to explore anything grander.
Instead, the film limits itself to a romantic, if somewhat grubby, depiction of life on the fringes in mid-20th Century America, but has little to add by way of insight. The cast elevate the material, often through sheer charisma. It’s Comer, however, who gives the most rounded performance, creating a compelling portrait of a character who goes from strait-laced to mob wife nearly overnight and has, as such, perhaps the most clarity.
What could have been a perfect vehicle to explore the myth of the American dream is instead a diverting joyride. As fun as family road trips are, complete with photos, there’s got to be more than Kodak moments.
