movie review
THE BIKERIDERS
Running time: 116 minutes. Rated R (language throughout, violence, some drug use and brief sexuality). In theaters.
Think of “The Bikeriders,” starring Austin Butler, Jodie Comer and Tom Hardy, as a good-enough “Goodfellas.”
Martin Scorsese’s crime classic doesn’t pass the torch so much as the new gang movie passes the time. However, the similarities between the two are tough to ignore.
Rather than harboring dreams of becoming a New York mafioso in the late 1950s like Ray Liotta’s Henry Hill did, Butler’s bright-eyed Benny winds up a member of a ‘60s Chicago motorcycle club called the Vandals.
Nostalgic narration moves this familiar story along, too, only it comes not from the main man, but Benny’s high-strung girlfriend, Kathy (Comer), who’s sharing her memories with a tagalong photojournalist (Mike Faist).
“I’ve had nothing but trouble since I met Benny,” Kathy admits, in a thick South Side accent, of the somewhat enchanted evening she caught his eye at a biker bar.
Early on, elation and belonging bloom for Benny from escaping home and finally finding an intensely loyal group of friends led by the fearsome Johnny (Hardy). Later, good times crumble and a violent and dangerous reality emerges for the couple.
You know the drill.
That join-rise-fall formula is an undeniably effective one. What’s noticeably missing here is any messiness.
Based on the 1967 book of photos by Danny Lyon, the movie has the coffee-table quality of a series snapshots: deliberately curated, frozen, intriguing. People die, of course, but “Bikeriders” stays oddly bloodless all the same.
Smooth as fresh asphalt, the film makes us pine for a pothole or two.
Where “Bikeriders” does not fall short is atmosphere. The Windy City of Nichols’ movie looks genuinely of that both quaint-and-grimy era. Those dingy corner bars with glass brick facades are unmistakable, and craggy supporting cast members such as Michael Shannon, Norman Reedus and Karl Glusman look like the sort of hard-edge guys with reserved stools at them.
The core trio of actors forms its own unofficial club: The Funny Accent Society.
Mumble-meister Hardy, who played another temperamental Chicagoan — Al Capone in 2020’s abysmal “Capone” — brings that same serpentine gargle to Johnny. He broods, snarls, spits out something unintelligible and repeats.
“Come again?” we go. Unfortunately, it’s a movie and undeterred Hardy rambles on.
I’m a huge admirer of Comer from her luminous work as a Russian femme fatale on “Killing Eve” and her bravura turn in Broadway’s “Prima Facie.”
As Kathy, she’s equal parts sweet and brassy: a solid pillar that holds everything together. Comer cranks up the character almost to cartoon levels — her brogue is like a female version of “Da Bears” — but not to the detriment of sympathy and likability.
And Butler’s still holding onto a hint of Elvis as Benny. While his ongoing Presley impression has earned the actor some mockery, for “Bikeriders,” the twang is not a bad thing. His voice easily transports us to a bygone era.
Butler is the rare leading man who makes us believe time travel really does exist.