nyone less like a Hells Angel would be difficult to imagine. Yet Jeff Nichols – this genial, softly spoken director, with his pink face and modest quiff of wavy, silver-streaked hair – is responsible for The Bikeriders, a movie thick with the roar of engines and the smell of grease. Inspired by photographer Danny Lyon’s 1967 book of the same name, it stars Tom Hardy as Johnny, the ageing leader of a Chicago biker gang;as Benny, its coolest member; and Jodie Comer as Kathy, who falls for Benny.
Comer turned out to be more than a match for Hardy in their scenes together. Kathy, who is in a tug-of-war with Johnny over her beau, confronts him in an electrifying showdown, warning him that Benny will die if he keeps riding with the Vandals. “Whenever two actors are facing off in a scene, I always ask them, ‘Who wants to go first?’ Jodie came in and her tempo was bam-bam-bam! She’s trying to run the scene fast, and Tom’s reaction was to slow right down.
For all its violence, though, I wonder whether The Bikeriders isn’t guilty of whitewashing. Lyon reported that one of the Outlaws “rolled out a huge Nazi flag as a picnic rug” but the Vandals display no such objectionable tendencies. “I was more interested in how a thing like this gets started,” Nichols says. “Usually it’s a social club for people who feel they don’t belong in the mainstream. They hang out, ride motorcycles, drink beer.
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