I’ve always argued that when it comes to action movies, particularly of the fisticuffs variety, that less is more. I still believe that to be true, but clearly there are limits and Potsy Ponciroli’s nearly dialogue-free Motor City has found them. While it’s a fairly decent showcase for Reacher bruiser Alan Ritchson as a leading man, the lack of any actual conversation limits him and a star-studded cast to ridiculous amounts of overacting, led by a jukebox musicals worth of catchy ’70s era tunes to guide each scene.
Drenched in the moody aesthetics of the era, washed out colors and broad displays of violence, Motor City sorta looks like a distant cousin to Sin City. The brutality starts right off the bat, as Ritchson’s character Miller dumps a dead guy off a tall building, crashing onto a car below. He then strides downstairs and shotguns the driver, before getting hit by another car, blasting away as he hurtles through the air. It looks pretty badass, actually, and writes a check that only occasionally can the film cash. But the silence and the violence both grow gimmicky pretty quickly, spurred on by a by-the-numbers revenge tale.
Ritchson gets to show off a side other than the hulking behemoth. In flashback, we see everyman mechanic Miller as he meets and falls in love with Sophia, a gold=clad beauty played by Shailene Woodley. They meet outside of a bar, she asks for a light, and the rest is history set to the sounds of “Lovely Day.” But Miller, along with his pal Youngblood (The Bear actor Lionel Boyce, definitely not making desserts) get caught up in some shady business that gets Miller framed for running drugs. He ends up behind bars, set up by crooked Detective Savick (Pablo Schreiber) and drug lord Reynolds (Ben Foster), the latter carrying a torch for Sophia that still burns pretty bright. When Miller gets locked up, she’s right back into Reynolds’ arms and the dirty life she had hoped to escape from.
It’s pretty funny that screenwriter Chad St. John’s script was on the acclaimed Black List considering it doesn’t have much dialogue and pushes a straight-forward narrative. Mostly Motor City comes across like a series of montages, or a director’s first music video where everyone gets to run around playing cops and robbers.
Fortunately, Motor City recovers in the final act when Ponciroli sheds the contrivances and just gives us what we want, which is Ritchson engaging in vicious overly-muscled violence. He gets a fantastic elevator brawl with some grizzly knife strikes and a lot of biting. Another inside of an out of control convertible is an adrenaline-fueled masterpiece. Again, less is more when it comes to this sort of movie, but it has to be done the right way. Less bullshit and more Ritchson punching things is the way to go. Motor City wastes too much time before finding its way, but when it does it’s one Hell of a ride.
