The Bikeriders (2023 | USA | 116 minutes | Jeff Nichols)
Taking inspiration from Danny Lyon’s iconic book of photography The Bikeriders, director Jeff Nichols uses his admiration for the images of mid-century motorcyclists as the basis for a fictionalized account of a Chicago-based motorcycle club. He brings these snapshots of gritty, greasy, and freewheeling life in the 1960s by assembling an equally photogenic cast of some of Hollywood’s finest faces, from dreamy Austin Butler (channeling James Dean), Tom Hardy (cosplaying Brando), and chameleonic Jodie Comer (disappearing into an extremely affected, deeply committed Chicago accent).
The story of these men of few words is recounted in faux interview format with Comer’s Kathy as the primary source of perspective on their days. She plays a young woman whose attraction to these guys came not for a love of motorcycles, but for the undeniable lust at seeing Austin Butler across a crowded room. From there, the danger and excitement of being around these men on the periphery of the law held her close in their tenuous orbit. Through recurring conversations with Mike Faist (who unfortunately has little to do beyond holding a microphone), we revisit her over the course of a decade, with her occasionally eliding recollections capturing the rise of the club from a loosely-structured social organization of aggressive guys who loved nothing more than getting together to drink, talk about, and ride bikes into something more nefarious, criminal, and beyond their control.
Populated by a host of always-interesting actors like Michael Shannon, Boyd Holbrook, Damon Herriman, and Will Oldham, the main enjoyment of the beautifully photographed film is the opportunity to watch such talented actors play dress-up. Beneath layers of filth, grease, and prosthetic terrible teeth, they cruise the open roads on period-appropriate motorcycles, terrorize the city streets with roaring engines, and seemingly can’t avoid getting up to trouble. At heart, though, they’re mostly just in it for the camaraderie of brawling and bullshitting. Working again with frequent collaborator Adam Stone as cinematographer, Nichols’s camera adores all of them, from the most stunningly beautiful to the most haggardly interesting weathered faces. The onscreen presence for Butler and Hardy are suitably breathtaking, instantly convincing as to why a band of ne’er do wells would fall in line behind their quiet charisma.
However, in part because its sole perspective is the recollections of one beleaguered housewife, we never get beyond the admittedly compelling surface presentations of these men to understand what drives them. The days stretch to years, years stretch to decades, and their group drifts from misfits to organized crime. Hardy gives a wily performance as menacing yet reserved father figure to the club of lost boys. Austin Butler near-wordlessly succeeds purely as an empty vessel by virtue of the camera’s understandable love affair with his unsettlingly potent animal magnetism. Even though they’re a cool hang and filmed beautifully, as time stretches on, the story feels increasingly shallow and these vignettes across time never quite knit into anything as profound, inadvertently confirming the old adage that a picture is worth more than a thousand words.
An earlier version of this review ran when The Bikeriders had its premiere at the Telluride Film Festival. It is now in wide release, including various Seattle theaters.
This piece was written during the 2023 SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of the actors currently on strike, the film being covered here wouldn’t exist. More information about the strikes can be found on the SAG-AFTRA Strike hubs. Donations to support striking workers can be made at the Entertainment Community Fund.