This is A Stickup!

Public Enemies (2009)

It’s not easy to fill the shoes of the man who directed such terrific thrillers as Manhunter (1986), Heat (1995), and Collateral (2004), unless of course you are the man who directed Manhunter, Heat, and Collateral. In that case, it shouldn’t be too difficult, especially when gifted with a project that couldn’t be a more perfect fit for your talents. Yet sometimes, as Michael Mann has proven with Public Enemies, an account of the life of notorious bank robber John Dillinger, the parts just don’t fit.

Let’s start with the positives, as there are sadly so few. First is Mann’s decision to shoot in the same digital format he used to such atmospheric effect in Collateral, which gives the film a rawness and vitality we rarely see in period pieces. Second is the use of Otis Taylor’s blues jam “One Million Slaves,” which provides a wonderful sound and tone that Mann unfortunately fails to capitalize upon throughout the rest of the film. And third is Stephen Graham’s manic, psychopathic portrayal of “Baby Face” Nelson; the movie only truly comes to life during the twenty minutes that he is part of the Dillinger gang.

Other than that, Enemies is just one misstep after another. The film is about forty minutes too long, and paced so deliberately that you half expect the cars onscreen to start moving backwards. The script is riddled with one uncreative gangster movie cliché after another, from the “I’ll come back for you no matter what” relationship with his girl Friday, to the obligatory hyper-slow motion death scene. The action sequences, save a few relatively gripping Peckinpah homages, are choreographed and executed with none of the life nor deftness of hand Mann displayed in Heat and Collateral. But perhaps the film’s most fatal flaw is Johnny Depp’s lifeless performance as Dillinger: the character he has created is so devoid of feeling or personality that we neither care nor want to care when he is shot in the face at the movie’s denouement. In a role that could have potentially redeemed the film’s myriad other flaws, Depp does nothing. And considering the generally quirky, unique quality he brings to most of his other roles, this one is particularly disappointing.

Overall, Public Enemies is a failure of the highest order. How this could have gone so terribly awry is beyond me. Do yourself a favor and rent Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde (1967) or Brian de Palma’s The Untouchables (1987) instead.

AND...

Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

Before we get into logistics, let’s get the legendary part aside. It is no exaggeration to say that Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde changed the face of American film. Its hyper-stylized use of violence, effortless combination of humor and brutality, and romantic, anti-establishment anti-heroes proved to be a winning (and lucrative) combination that introduced Hollywood to the power of a young audience. Without this film, there would be no Scorsese, no Coppola, no Bogdanovich, Spielberg, or De Palma. No Easy Rider, no Wild Bunch, no Star Wars. Without Bonnie and Clyde, there would be no 1970s Golden Age of American cinema.

Based on actual events, the story concerns the rise and fall of the Barrow gang, a group of Depression-era bank robbers consisting of Bonnie Parker, Clyde Barrow, Buck Barrow (Clyde’s older brother), Blanche Barrow (Buck’s wife) and C.W. Moss. In the course of their wild, thieving rampage across the rural Midwest during the 1930s, their exploits grow to near-mythic proportions amongst the poor and disenfranchised, making them folk heroes to any and all who have been victimized by the American financial system.

Brilliantly written by Robert Benton and David Newman, the film is ignited by a quintet of stunning performances from its ensemble cast. Warren Beatty as Clyde is as charming, flawed, and endearing as they come, and Faye Dunaway gives a knockout, star-making performance as Bonnie. Michael J. Pollard is a revelation as the dim-witted but loyal C.W., while Gene Hackman explodes across the screen as Buck. And Estelle Parsons, in her Oscar-winning role as Blanche, is shrill, hysterical, infuriating, and absolutely perfect. There is not a false note in characterization, a testament to both the skill of the actors and Arthur Penn’s sure-handed directorial guidance.

These terrific performances are matched by the film’s striking visual design. The costumes by Theadora Van Runkle started nothing short of a fashion revolution at the time of release, while Burnett Guffey’s cinematography, paired with Dean Tavoularis’ stunning art direction, perfectly captures the beauty and brutality of the Depression-era Midwest. Dede Allen’s legendary editing work speaks for itself through the legacy it has left behind: Sam Peckinpah, John Woo, the brilliant Thelma Schoonmaker. All owe an artistic debt to what Allen did with this film.

The hype that has surrounded this movie for over forty years is completely justified. Its innovation, influence, and creative ingenuity are practically unmatched. Go to the nearest video store and see for yourself: Bonnie and Clyde is a bloody, brilliant masterpiece.