A common desire that ties human beings together is that of wanting to belong somewhere. It’s an essential piece of the human condition that writer and director Jeff Nichols primarily tries to explore in his long-gestating movie about bike riders, The Bikeriders (2024); even something as menacing as a motorcycle gang can originate as a way for people to connect and find where they belong. The film begins as a fascinating exploration of finding purpose in a collective before running out of gas, resulting in a final product that doesn’t make enough use of its core concept.
One of the best moments in The Bikeriders is when Johnny (Tom Hardy) gets the idea to start his motorcycle club, the Chicago Vandals, while watching The Wild One (1953) starring Marlon Brando. While sitting on a couch in his well-kept home with his wife and children after a day of work, he gets so mesmerized by the effortlessly cool performance by Brando that he instinctually repeats a line the actor says in the film to himself almost without realizing it. In this instant, he decides to become Brando’s character and be a motorcyclist. A movie inspired an everyday family man to start what would become something that led to his downfall and the downfall of others. Nichols’ biggest mistake with The Bikeriders is not dedicating its main focus to this idea.
Instead of focusing mainly on Johnny’s story, most of the film explores the relationship between Kathy (Jodie Comer) and Benny (Austin Butler). This would be tolerable if they weren’t so surface-level. The Bikeriders begins with a scene where Benny courts Kathy by driving her home on his bike one night from a bar and creepily waiting outside her house right across the street through the following day. This act frustrates Kathy’s boyfriend so much that he leaves her. Within a few weeks after this incident, Benny and Kathy get married, or so viewers are told through Kathy’s narration of what happened. This moment is about as interesting as their relationship gets, as the rest of the film displays them lifelessly; Kathy constantly asks Benny to quit the motorcycle club and Benny refuses.
There might’ve been something deeper to explore with how being a part of the club impacts Benny’s psychology, as is suggested in a scene in which Benny faces the prospect of never being able to ride a motorcycle again. But viewers never really see why it’s so important to him or why he refuses to allow himself to care for Kathy. Their toxic relationship is largely left unresolved when the story reaches its conclusion.
The story is largely structured around Kathy’s retelling of events to Danny Lyon (Mike Faist), a photographer documenting the everyday goings of the Vandals for a potential book (which the movie is adapted from). Danny’s interviews with Kathy create a throughline that the film sticks to. Like every element in The Bikeriders, it would’ve been interesting if Nichols focused more on this aspect. Danny doesn’t play a key role in the story and mainly exists in the background while snapping photos for his book. In real life, Danny went so far as to become a member of the Outlaws, the real club he observed, which the Vandals are a fictionalized version of. It might have been intriguing to see this play out and get a closer view of Danny’s journey to the truth of what the gang stands for. Alas, it’s instead another missed opportunity.
Everything about The Bikeriders feels rushed in an attempt to explore several different aspects of the story. In doing so, nothing feels like it has weight or is given relevance. Even the evolution of the club — from a chance for outcasts to get together and race to a widespread society of violent miscreants — feels rushed. Nichols doesn’t portray a natural progression of events. He doesn’t allow the audience to spend enough time with the gang to see it devolve into madness. It suddenly goes from the members hanging out and picking fights to burning down buildings. Viewers at least get to see Johnny’s wounded reaction to the thing he created to bring people together slip out of his hands. However, like everything else, it’s not fleshed out enough.
Luckily, the performances are strong enough to distract from the narrative shortcomings. Once the initial odd impression of the exaggerated Chicago accents sported by Hardy and Comer surpasses, the two actors become quite enjoyable to watch. Hardy, in particular, is the standout. His nuanced performance displays a mixture of pride and remorse for his actions and the actions of his club. He’s empowered by the respect the gang provides him for giving them a family. Yet, when everything takes a turn for the worst, viewers can see through the physical traits Hardy bakes into the character that he regrets the horrible things he’s doing. He desperately wants the club to return to the way it used to be but knows that he allowed himself to become stuck in the position of a leader who has to be ruthless to survive.
Butler is likely one of the biggest draws to The Bikeriders for general audiences, yet he disappointingly doesn’t get much to do besides look like the movie star that he is. He instantly makes a strong impression with his performance, evocative of golden age stars like James Dean. As expected, he makes the most of what he’s given, but he isn’t afforded enough for his performance to be as fleshed out as it could be. Nichols provides small opportunities in his screenplay for character growth, but he never takes Benny to the deeper places the character could go, consequentially leaving Butler stranded.
Every actor in the large supporting cast — such as Michael Shannon, Boyd Holbrook, and Norman Reedus —tries to leave as strong of an impression as possible, but they’re barely let off the tight leash that restricts them from having anything interesting to do. Shannon comes closest to a lasting impression when he delivers a monologue that allows viewers to familiarize themselves with his character’s tragically squandered hopes and dreams. This moment, particularly, left me frustrated that other characters didn’t get similar treatment.
One feature the film gets right is its alluring look. Cinematographer Adam Stone creates images that feel rugged and raw, while never failing to evoke a sense of nostalgia with its Americana late ‘60s and early ‘70s setting. It’s a tone that enhances the film as a whole. The thrilling sound design for the bikes’ roaring motors adds even more to the sense of freedom viewers get when they see the Vandals speeding down long stretches of road through Stone’s visuals. These moments add layers to the film that can best be compared to the way Top Gun: Maverick (2022) makes you feel when you get the full sense of the scope of massive jets soaring through the air.
When watching The Bikeriders, one can’t help but think how much better it could be if its story were more focused. Nichols tries too hard to juggle several ideas that are each enticing on their own but doesn’t craft much that sticks with viewers when mashed together. The nuance of what could’ve been a personal character study gets muddled in an attempt to create a crime odyssey that doesn’t do any of its starring players justice. The themes Nichols tries to explore are relevant, yet he doesn’t flesh them out enough to leave a lasting impact. Much like an obnoxious band of bikers riding together down a long stretch of road, the film would’ve been much better off if it had picked a lane to explore and stuck to it.
Review Courtesy of Evan Miller
Feature Image Credit to Focus Features via The New Yorker
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