‘The Bikeriders’: London Review

Dir/scr: Jeff Nichols. US. 2023. 116 mins.

Jeff Nichols’ brash, sprawling account of the late-60s/early-70s glory days of a Midwestern motorcycle gang burns onto the screen in a fug of petrol fumes, sweat and swaggering attitude. Inspired by the black-and-white photographs of Danny Lyons, the picture delivers a taste of a dangerous closed world. Our guide is Kathy (Jodie Comer), the wife of brooding bad boy Benny (Austin Butler, channelling James Dean down to the last hair of his brylcreemed-quiff) who finds herself relegated to a distant second place behind the biker life and Benny’s mentor, leader-of-the pack Johnny (Tom Hardy). It’s a vivid, fleshed-out insider’s eye view of a subculture populated by authentically hard-edged lost souls.

Sound design so forceful, it’s like being caught in the carburettor of a Harley Davidson

Sharing something of the outlaw spirit of Nichols’ earlier film, Mud, The Bikeriders pays tribute to the allure of earlier incarnations of the biker movie subgenre – The Wild One and Easy Rider are both named-checked – while also bringing a texture and sophistication to its approach which has been lacking in the more strident exploitation flicks of the past. It’s a delicate balance between critiquing the oil-smeared, testosterone-sodden machismo of the biker world and being breathlessly enamoured by it, and Nichols just about manages to pull it off. Performances are strong across the board, but Comer, bringing a minxy wit and tough broad moxie to the character of Kathy, is a standout and could figure in awards conversations.

The decision to bring Kathy to the centre of the story of the fictional (but factually inspired) Chicago biker gang The Vandals is a smart one. She is both an insider – her relationship with Benny has turned her into becoming “like them” – and, as a woman, a perennial outsider. The picture uses the device of Danny Lyons’ (Mike Faist) photographs and interviews to capture Kathy’s voice, and to tie together the chapters and the ever-expanding cast of characters of The Vandals’ story.

Kathy’s first encounter with the gang comes in a dive bar where she has arranged to meet a girlfriend. She’s repulsed by the men and their pawing, unwashed hands, their hungry eyes, their violating comments and laughter. But Benny, with his loose-limbed and leisurely movements, fascinates her, despite her better judgement and some words of caution from her friend. Kathy is persuaded to ride on the back of Benny’s chopper motorcycle. She is rattled. And so is the audience, thanks to sound design so forceful, it’s like being caught in the carburettor of a Harley Davidson. The use of sound, and a score that freewheels from the Shangri-las to the Stooges and beyond, are the film’s secret weapons.

That’s not to say the picture doesn’t also look impressive. Although shot in colour rather than the black-and-white of Lyon’s photographs, there’s a nicely beaten-up grainy quality to the cinematography that nods to the source material.

It’s a seductive thing, this idea of absolute freedom that the motorcycle represents. But, the film suggests, absolute freedom is a myth. Inspired by Brando in The Wild One, Johnny started the gang. But as the leader, he finds that he has cast himself in a role that he grows weary of playing. Kathy is drawn to the danger and wildness in Benny’s nature, but then realises that these are the very qualities that make him the worst of husbands. The Kid (Toby Wallace) sees in the biker culture a means to escape the violence of his home life. But there’s no bike fast enough to outrun the savage legacy of his upbringing. And Benny, the one who comes the closest of all of them to this mythical ideal of freedom, has the physical and emotional scars to show for it.