‘THE BIKERIDERS’ A GRUFF MOTO-DRAMA ABOUT “COOL GUYS” AND “GOOD OLE TIMES”

Arkansas-born filmmaker Jeff Nichols has a way of channeling a certain kind of Americana onto the screen that few of his contemporaries are able to capture. There’s a very particular kind of grit and masculinity that defines a Nichol’s feature, with characters experiencing gnawing heartache and an often overbearing patriarchal sense of responsibility, despite often being on the fringes of society, manic or mad to many outsiders looking in. This is as true in Take Shelter and Mud—both about ‘crazed’ outsiders—as it is in Loving and Midnight Special, the former depicting Richard and Mildred Loving’s arrest for their interracial marriage in 1960s Virginia, and the latter a sci-fi drama about a father protecting his ‘powered’ son at all costs.

Nichols has a way of brushing his outsiders with a certain trashy nobility (think Matthew McConaughey’s Mud), a magical sense of righteousness that is heightened by living outside the law, by their own code. The Bikeriders, an account of the origins of 60s motorcycle club The Vandals, is a perfect Nichols premise, charting the rise and fall of an institution of men who couldn’t play by society’s rules and the strict codes they created for themselves, ultimately leading to their downfall.

Framed through a series of interviews conducted by Danny Lyon (Mike Faist) between 1965 and 1973, The Bikeriders is part oral history, part cool guy mythology, and entirely better than watching seven seasons of Sons of Anarchy. The script, a somewhat hazy mixture of Lyon’s interviews and Nichol’s fictionalization, introduces us to the Vandals colorful cast of characters in much the same way that a seasoned motorcyclist would assemble their choppers: piecemeal and with attention given to the constructed whole. There’s Johnny (Tom Hardy), the hardened man’s man and pragmatic president of the club, loyal and honorable in an old fashioned sort of way, often to a fault. Benny (Austin Butler) is the James Dean-inspired rebel, all attitude with a quick temper. Bruice (Damon Herriman) serves as the steadfast lieutenant; Zipco (Michael Shannon is the dazed grease monkey trapped in a world of what-ifs; Cal (Boyd Holbrook) is a soot-stained good-time guy and OG club member; Wahoo (Beau Knapp) is an original Vandal with a reckless streak; Funny Sonny (Norman Reedus, almost unrecognizable with nub teeth) appears as an especially filthy California biker who joins up with the Vandals for some time; and Cockroach (Emory Cohen) is an old school 50s greaser type who earned his name by eating bugs, the club’s most blatant connection with an already bygone era. Each character adds to the tapestry of the club’s wild and chaotic existence and gives dimension to its fast-changing makeup.

Nichols handily assembles this cast of gruff men of few words, slathers them in dirt and bike grease, and watches their animal instincts unfold across years of club picnics, organizational growth, run-ins with the law, and flirtation with organized crime. At its heart, the story centers on two themes: the evolution of motorcycle clubs from a collection of fraternal hobbyists into hardened gang members, and the melodrama surrounding Johnny, Benny, and the woman who comes between them, Jodie Comer’s Kathy.

The generational shifts from the late 50s to the early 70s forms the backdrop for Benny and Kathy’s tumultuous romance and Johnny’s efforts to preserve the club amid its expansion. Benny is torn between the stability and terrestrial comforts Kathy offers and Johnny’s vision of him as the club’s future leader. Kathy is equally conflicted — at once taken by the bike rider’s machismo culture and repulsed by it. Safeguarded under Benny’s wing, she’s dazzled by the danger and rawness of road life. Without Benny, she’s intimidated – and for good reason: this is not a safe place for women. This point is hammered home in some especially grotesque moments of near-miss sexual violence, underscoring the movie’s integration of what the Vandals are supposed to stand for, especially as the club expands its borders and its outsider politics turn to ruthless lawlessness.

The performances amongst the main trio of actors will garner attention for good reason. Tom Hardy is terrific as Johnny, one of his best turns in years, offering a turn that’s both considered and free ranging, feral and incredibly restrained. He’s at once channeling a honey badger and Marlon Brando in a way that no other living actor could manage to pull off with such virtuosic gravitas. Austin Butler isn’t quite in one trick pony territory yet (thank Dune 2 for that) but he flashes the same kind of preeminent cool, calm, collected Southern tough guy we’ve seen from him in Elvis and Masters of the Air. Nevertheless, he’s preeminently watchable. Whether he’s sitting on his hog chain smoking cigarettes or cooly launching himself into a brawl, Butler has the magnetism of a classical leading man and puts it to proper use here as a man who is little more than the anonymous “cool guy” archetype he fashions himself after. Though her role involves a lot of expositional reflection, Comer’s gee-whizz turn helps ground the increasingly violent nature of the MC in something human, something feminine, something with both feet on the ground.

CONCLUSION: Jeff Nichols delivers another tale of gritty American rebellion in The Bikeriders, exploring how the evolution of The Vandals motorcycle club mirrors broader cultural shifts during the Vietnam War era. With stellar performances, particularly from Tom Hardy, the film is a compelling exploration of brotherhood, rebellions, and America’s changing landscape.