Less words, more fun pulpy action.
Every now and then, pulp action movies are required to keep that 70s B-movie charm alive. It’s the kind that mixes a lot of people. After my reviewing of “Motor City,” I heard one critic saying: “Two hours of my life I’m never getting back,” while another critic I’ve talked to shared my appreciation for this kind of movie. And we and another critic were also talking about it taking a routine genre and making it into a visual piece. Definition: there’s very little dialogue and more dispositions, action, and 70s music.
I was thinking back to “Silent Night,” which only had a few muffled words and I was also reminded of “A Quiet Place,” which also had little talking due to the aliens tracking humans by sound. And I can keep repeat this saying all day long: “action speaks louder than words.” In “Motor City,” the words are heard every once in a while. And just as you think a conversation will begin, someone either gets hurt or a hit song mutes their dialogue.
As I’m hearing less words and more action, I knew the time period was 1977 Detroit, the hero John Miller (Alan Ritchson) has just gotten his probation revoked, his girlfriend Sophia (Shailene Woodley) accepts his marriage proposal, and that the drug lord Reynolds (Ben Foster) frames him for smuggling cocaine and has a detective (Pablo Schreiber) on his payroll.
As Miller gets arrested, Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” overshadows the dialogue and shouting, while merging with some slow motion sequences and its stylish direction by Potsy Ponciroli (“Old Henry,” “Greedy People”). When Reynolds visits him at the police station where he’s being interrogated, despite not saying anything, he turns off the tape recorder. And when Sophia is told such rubbish by the authorities, she shouts at Miller: “I loved you!! I hate you!!!” There’s your music, your campiness, and your little bit of dialogue.
I also knew, however, that he has friends: Youngblood (Lionel Boyce, Marcus from “The Bear”) and Singh (Amar Chadha-Patel from “The Creator”), who are willing to help him break out of jail. And it’s pretty obvious that Sophia would fall under Reynolds machinations (most of which might remind us a bit of Frank Lopez’s trophy wife and later Tony Montana’s wife Elvira Hancock in “Scarface”), and that Miller must save her.
As a nice, steady combination of a B-movie and visual piece, it chooses to be as violent as it pleases with an amputated leg, bullets with pennies in them, and a candied knife made by our hero in jail. The story may have been done before and will be recycled again, but it’s fun to hear the music overshadow the cliched dialogue and the pulp entertainment consume the genre to its core. It’s almost like eating a cherry and spitting the pit out. That’s how much fun “Motor City” is.
Ritchson has a muscular body, so he’s able to play John Miller with his appearance and disposition. I was thinking back to a few years ago, when I didn’t think he was convincing as a father with a sick daughter in “Ordinary Angels,” but I was also reminded on how charming he was in “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare.” And I think he’s damn entertaining in “Motor City.” And Foster plays the villain with a certain kind of charm that tries to cover his character’s sinisterness. I like how he weakly pours his own coffee and has Sophia pour more for him, and I like how he reacts to certain things I can’t give away. And when these two reunite for one final showdown, it shows how campy fun the movie is willing to be.
Thinking “Motor City” is supposed to be a perfect movie is the same thing as thinking Pepsi shouldn’t be served at a dinner party (Elaine Benes thought so on “Seinfeld”). But I would put Pepsi in a wine glass, and I would see “Motor City” for what it is. I’m just jealous of those who live by a drive-in movie theater, because that’s really how you should see this movie.