Motor City: All Rock, No Talk

John Miller is a lot like Monsieur Hulot, but way more jacked up. He has little spoken dialogue, but his body language speaks loudly and painfully. Frankly, the Vietnam veteran ex-con is not the sort of bloke average people would mess with. However, a drug lord like Reynolds has plenty of crooked cops in his pocket to do his dirty work in Potsy Ponciroli’s nearly wordless but far from quiet Motor City, which opens Friday in theaters.

Miller just finished his parole probationary period and planned on marrying his girlfriend, Sophia. She used to be Reynolds’ much abused trophy-possession, until Miller liberated her in the back alley behind a club. They had been together ever since, at least until the cops arrest him for the enormous stash of drugs conveniently planted in the trunk of his car. Of course, the grotesquely corrupt Lt. Savick leads the operation. It is all so transparently fixed, it makes an honest cop like Det. Kent sick to his stomach.

Soon, Reynolds swoops in to “rescue” the struggling Sophia. Meanwhile, the bent screws in prison constantly harass Miller at Reynolds’ behest. However, he is a tough nut to crack. He also has two highly-trained comrades on the outside, Youngblood and Singh, who presumably have the wherewithal to break him out, judging from the utter chaos of the in media res prologue.

Basically, Motor City follows in the footsteps of John Woo’s similarly taciturn Silent Night, but it is no match for the master’s spectacular action set pieces. Instead, most of the film plays like several early-season Reacher episodes, which maybe tracks, since it stars Alan Ritchson as Miller. Instead, he devotes more time to selecting vintage songs (appropriate to the film’s 1977 setting, give or take three or four years, in either direction).

Frankly, Ponciroli’s strict adherence to the music over dialogue concept shortchanges the dramatic potential of some scenes, particularly Det. Kent’s confrontation with Sophie. In such cases, most viewers will be frustrated not knowing exactly what was said.

King Ivory: Fentanyl On-Screen

This film tries to be for fentanyl what Scarface was for cocaine and New Jack City was for crack. It might not capture a comparable cult following, but nobody can accuse it of glamorizing the trade or abuse of narcotics. Fentanyl corrupts and kills, but not just in big bad New York or Miami. Oklahoma becomes the site of a deadly turf battle throughout director-screenwriter John Swab’s King Ivory, which opens this Friday in theaters.

Thanks to the economics of fentanyl manufacture, numerous mini-cartels have driven most of the large traditional cartels out of business. Only two of the two traditional giants remain in business, largely due to their superior ruthlessness. One of those notorious behemoths intends to move into the Oklahoma market, but that territory has always been controlled an indigenous criminal organization IBH.

Holt Lightfeather remains their leader, even though he is serving a life sentence for murder. It is there that he recruits George “Smiley” Greene to be his new fix-it man. Greene did not apply for the position, nor can he decline the appointment, At least he gets an early release to launch countermeasures against the cartels encroaching from Mexico and California.

Oklahoma drug cop Layne West is also focused on the Mexican cartel, especially Ramon Garza, whom he tied to a deadly human trafficking operation that negligently killed dozens of illegal migrants. Despite such horrors, West’s own drug-addicted son Jack helps to underwrite the cartels’ violence with his compulsive usage. Frankly, West and his wife Tess know they are losing him, but they are unable to breakthrough his Gen-Z petulance. Even West’s partner, Ty Grady, whom Jack regards as a beloved uncle-figure, cannot reach him.

Fentanyl is having a cinematic moment with two films addressing it illicit trade hitting theaters this week (the other being Muzzle: City of  Wolves). Even though Swab ignores the CCP regime’s complicity in the international fentanyl supply chain, King Ivory (referring to the drug’s street name) rings with authenticity. It is not set in Oklahoma by accident. The state aptly represents the kind of working-class “red state” communities that have been devastated by opiates. It also happens to be the site of some uniquely Balkanesque turf  battles, which Swab and company explore in fascinating detail.

Even though Swab never aspires for a docu-drama tone, King Ivory often feels uncomfortably real. It is the sort of film that grabs you by the lapels and slaps you across he chops. Admittedly, that does not sound like a lot of fun, but it certainly is eye-opening.

King Ivory also boasts at least a half dozen shockingly good performances. Notably, the late great Graham Greene is frighteningly intense as the ruthless Lightfeather. Instead of the middling Icefall, King Ivory should be considered his final film, because it serves as a brilliant capstone to a culturally significant career.

Likewise, Ben Foster equals his most idiosyncratic career highlights with his portrayal of emphysemic Greene, who somehow credibly strangles prison inmates, while wheezing through his tracheal hole. Foster’s quiet brooding is perfectly complimented by Ritchie Coster’s loudmouth bluster as Greene’s uncle and mentor in the Irish mob, Mickey Greene.

Emancipation, on Apple TV+

Suddenly, the Formalism school of criticism doesn’t look so bad to Apple. Adherents of that critical theory focused exclusively on the work itself, rather than the psychological and biographical particulars of the writer. Of course, Apple TV has largely fostered a different approach, producing work like Roar and Gutsy, whose entire reason for being is their status as women-created series. Now, they are releasing a $130 million acquisition, starring Will Smith, post-slap, hoping audiences will just focus on the work itself. There is indeed some notable on-screen drama, but it is hard to ignore the odd off-screen circumstances surrounding Antoine Fuqua’s Emancipation when it premieres tomorrow on Apple TV+.

Peter is a slave in Louisiana who would eventually be immortalized in the photo “Whipped Peter” or “Scourged Back,” which rallied the North and the rest of the world against slavery. As the film opens, the Confederate Army is about to “nationalize” Peter, to bolster the war effort. Unfortunately, that means he will be separated from his family, who remain at Captain John Lyons’ plantation.

The irony of his position, now toiling to preserve his own enslavement, is not lost on Peter. He also seethes under the lash of Jim Fassel, the brutal slave-driver, overseeing the construction of a Confederate artillery embankment. Therefore, when Peter hears of Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, he decides to make a break for Baton Rouge, where Grant’s Army is encamped. However, getting there through the swamp will be grueling, especially with Fassel on his trail.

The truth is, Emancipation is more of a manhunt-style action film than a serious issue-oriented awards-bait film, which is perfectly fine. In fact, that definitely plays to Fuqua’s strengths as a filmmaker. Nevertheless, for a new Will Smith film, it has had an eerily quiet release, for obvious reasons. Eventually, there will probably be books written about the behind-the-scenes dramas. There is no getting around Smith, but plenty of websites claim Timothy Hutton plays “Senator John Lyons,” but you won’t see the actor (who has faced criminal accusations that have not as yet led to formal charges) in the film or its closing credits.

Refocusing again on the film as it is, Smith contributes a very good, very physical performance. He really transforms himself to look weathered, battered, and aged well-beyond his years. However, he only has one really Oscar-friendly speech in the entire film. That is far from a bad thing, because it means the two-hour-plus film moves along at a good clip.

Ben Foster is again suitably creepy as the virulently racist Fassel. Mostly, he is just a nasty villain, but Foster has a key monologue that illustrates how slavery poisoned him during his innocence youth, which echoes Abolitionist arguments of the time, regarding the corrupting influence slavery had on whites as well.

Hell or High Water: Jeff Bridges, Texas Ranger

Everything is bigger in Texas, except their latest serial bank robbers. The Howard Brother bandits are definitely playing small ball, but with a purpose. They will only hit a particular bank with branches located exclusively in West Texas and they just take the loose bills in the teller drawers. As a result, the FBI has no time for them, leaving them to a Texas Ranger on the verge of retirement. Yet, that old bird dog is still enjoys the hunt in David Mackenzie’s Hell or High Water (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Tanner Howard did not learn much responsibility when he was in prison. That was always his brother Toby’s department, but trying circumstances still managed to overwhelm the younger Howard sibling. He nursed their mother during the final days of her prolonged illness, while reeling from own divorce. Since he has little income to speak of, the bank is on the brink of foreclosing their predatory mortgage on the family ranch. That would be particularly unfortunate, since oil has been discovered on the property. You know: black gold, Texas Tea.

Essentially, the smarter Howard boy came up with the plan to pay off the bank by robbing its unmarked cash, laundering it through the local Native American casino, paying off the mortgage, and then putting the oil rich ranch into trust for his semi-estranged sons. However, time is running out and Tanner isn’t getting any more stable. Plus, grizzled old Marcus Hamilton, the Archie Bunker of the Texas Rangers, and his long-suffering Comanche-Mexican American partner Alberto Parker are on the case, so the last bank they need is likely to be a toughie.

Yes sir, this film is set in Texas and even though it was filmed in New Mexico, the British Mackenzie (known for Starred Up and the over-achieving science fiction fable Perfect Sense) gets the look, sounds, and attitude precisely right. Of course, he gets a massive assist from honorary Texan Jeff Bridges, who goes back to the Crazy Heart-True Grit well, chewing the scenery with laconic orneriness. Bridges is instantly credible in a part like this, yet it is almost shocking how broken down and decrepit he looks.

Chris Pine is fine as Toby Howard, but Ben Foster is a scene-stealing natural fit for the emotionally erratic Tanner. However, it is Gil Birmingham who really gives the film heart and integrity as the eternally patient Parker. He and Bridges are terrific playing off each other in scenes that often have an uncomfortably sharp edge.

Jeff Bridges’ salty hardnose persona might give HOHW the appearance a safe “greatest hits” style package, but Taylor Sheridan’s screenplay is surprisingly smart in nearly every respect. There is a good deal of wry humor in the film, but it also has tragic heft. Recommended for fans of Southwestern noirs in the Blood Simple tradition, Hell or High Water opens today (8/12) in New York, at the Loews Lincoln Square uptown and the Regal Union Square downtown.