Austin Butler is not a man to rush his words. Every line of dialogue feels like it’s preceded by a pregnant pause or a considered stare while the star rolls the words around in his mouth. This abandonment of immediacy feels well-suited for The Bikeriders, a glacial study of oil-stained Americana, sumptuously crafted by writer-director Jeff Nichols.
It’s a bold choice to stretch a tale about a gang of road-ripping reprobates over the best part of two hours. Inspired by Danny Lyon’s book of the same name, the film follows an interpretation of the author, played by a fuzzy-faced Mike Faist, as he documents the fictionalised group — known here as The Vandals — as they booze, brawl and burn rubber across their native Chicago. Central to his story is Butler’s Benny, a quiet, contemplative loyalist, and his conflict-creating relationships with quasi-father-figure Johnny (Tom Hardy, trying his best Brando impersonation) and partner Kathy (Jodie Comer).
A slick showcase of Austin Butler’s burgeoning star power.
The latter is the film’s secondary storyteller, relaying her experiences to Danny in both the mid ’60s and early ’70s. Her love of Benny stands at stubborn odds with The Vandals’ priorities, which range from idleness to violence. Their fabric is fortified by the supporting characters: Michael Shannon, a Nichols regular, plays a toasted army reject who takes pride in his bike-work; Toby Wallace, a livewire presence and relative newcomer, plays a wayward kid looking to The Vandals for a sense of purpose. Yet their narratives are stifled by the central fight between Kathy and Johnny over who will share Benny’s future. Even when events heat up as Johnny’s methods of leadership become more ruthless, this conflict doesn’t have the strength alone to propel the story forward at an engaging pace.
It is, though, an exquisitely shot film, bathed in sun-baked hues. Nichols’ long-standing cinematographer Adam Stone largely studies The Vandals’ convoy from a distance, occasionally adopting a documentary-style approach. Yet this distance works against the vitality of the gang: the punches thrown, the spilt blood, the ice clinking in the bottom of a rapidly drained glass of bourbon all feel strangely sterile. Comer proves a lively narrator with her animated Chicago accent, but there’s a distinct lack of thrust given it’s a film that spotlights the unruly energy of a group of lawless men. There is at least plenty to admire through the handsome quality of filmmaking, and this is a slick showcase of Butler’s burgeoning star power. But when it comes to bottling the spirit of its subjects, The Bikeriders proves a rebel with some flaws.
