The Bikeriders
America has an enduring, rugged romance with motorcycles and the people who ride them. From The Wild One through to Easy Rider, not forgetting Rumble Fish and the FX series Sons of Anarchy, we keep seeing artists try to put this subculture on screen. Filmmaker Jeff Nichols, inspired by Danny Lyon’s 1967 photography book, put his own motorcycle dream to the screen by giving us a fly on the wall look at life in the Midwestern bike club The Chicago Outlaws.
Nichols wanted to make this film all his life but it took the urging of his best friend, actor Michael Shannon to really nudge him into committing to the project. It’s fitting that The Bikeriders’ origins tie into the Nichols-Shannon bond, or that its characters’ lives revolve around a device made possible by the camaraderie of William S. Harley and Arthur Davidson. It's a sentimental reflection on friendship in perhaps the environment with the greatest potential to breed toxic masculinity: the 1960s blue-collar motorcycle club. Led by their firm but fair founder Johnny (Tom Hardy), the Vandals are a rag-tag band of misfits based out of Illinois who share a passion for loud music, loud bikes, and loud women. They’re a varied group, introduced in a quick-fire montage: Cockroach (Emory Cohen), so named because he once ate a bug; soulful West Coast transplant Cal (Boyd Holbrook); zany BFFs Corky (Karl Glusman) and Wahoo (Beau Knapp); and the Dennis Hopper-esque Zipco (Shannon). But Johnny's favorite is arguably the brooding Benny (Austin Butler, in his first post-Elvis role) who we're told doesn't much care about anyone or anything, other than riding his bike.
Amid the maelstrom of machismo, Nichols centers the voice of no-nonsense Kathy (Jodie Comer), who recalls her years spent on the gang’s periphery after falling for Benny. She's a gal who can hold her own in a man's world and has candid responses for cub reporter/photographer Danny (Mike Faist). It's a choice that feels reminiscent of Martin Scorsese's work, particularly The Wolf of Wall Street and Goodfellas, although Nichols has something of a softer touch, even when dealing with the ultraviolence of disenfranchised men who are quicker to throw punches than ask questions.
Actually, the first time we meet Benny, he's about to get into trouble – something that will become a recurring theme. Drinking in a quiet bar, he's accosted by two patrons who demand he remove his motorcycle jacket. When Benny refuses, things get very bloody very quickly – cut to Kathy, who laments that Benny's bad habits and brash associates meant she hasn't seen a whole lot of peace and quiet, but she can't quite tear herself away. "It can't be love," she tells us. "It must be stupidity." Yet for all her frustration, irritation and occasional fear, Kathy can't deny an enduring fondness for her on-and-off lover, who exhibits some tenderness and passion when they're together. Butler proves he's not a one-trick pony here, presenting Benny as a classic rebel without a cause, who keeps even the audience at a distance. Although The Bikeriders is set over almost a decade, we aren't much closer to knowing Benny at the end. Nichols opts to show us Kathy's tender, romantic perspective of him instead.
This softness between Kathy and Benny contrasts with the hard edges of the gang when they're together. Liquor flows freely and sometimes blood does too. In one scene, a mass brawl breaks out at a picnic after Cal is accused by another gang of messing with their bikes; it ends, comically, with everyone agreeing to a draw and sitting down to share a drink. This sense of humor undercuts some of the tension, with Nichols playing up the comedy that inherently develops from multiple warring male egos, but he isn't afraid to show several shocking instances of brutality, which hit all the harder due to the affection we've developed for this motley crew of tough but well-meaning renegades.
The charismatic performances of the cast are undoubtedly key to The Bikeriders' charm, particularly Comer's fast-talking reluctant romantic and Hardy as a beleaguered boss realizing he can't keep up with a changing world. Newcomer Toby Wallace (who also makes an impression in Kitty Green's The Royal Hotel) is well-cast as a chillingly determined wannabe, while a well-timed cameo from Norman Reedus as zonked-out Californian biker Funny Sonny is delightful.
Despite being mostly set in Chicago, the film moves to the rhythms of a road movie owing to its ambitious multi-year setting. Not a lot really happens in The Bikeriders – rather than having a strict plot, we get a slice-of-life look at the relationships within the group, primarily focusing on Johnny and Benny, as the former tries to shape the latter into his protegé.
This steady pace might seem at odds with the perceived high-octane world of motorcycles, but it's definitely in keeping with Nichols' past work, which has focused acutely on human stories, even in the fantastical worlds of his films Take Shelter and Midnight Special. While those looking for an adrenaline rush might be underwhelmed by this more contemplative take on motorcycle culture, The Bikeriders certainly captures the community that American men have found for decades in motorcycle culture, including its melancholy third act which lightly addresses the end of the golden age of the 1960s and a shift among bikers towards criminal activity.
It's a nostalgic yarn, but a compelling one, evocatively soundtracked by the Shangri-Las and featuring more denim than a Levi's store. But considering the dire state of things in 2024, it's easy to see the appeal of The Bikeriders' slightly rose-tinted world, where escape from your troubles is as simple as an open stretch of highway and a V-twin engine’s thunder drowning out the sounds of the world you’re happy to leave behind.
