[img]7|left|||no_popup[/img]When notorious bank robber John Dillinger and Special Agent Melvin Purvis finally have a face-to-face in “Public Enemies”, the result lacks the primal tension of master thief Neil McCauley meeting Lieutenant Vincent Hanna for coffee and mutual understanding in Michael Mann’s defining cops-and-robbers opus “Heat.” The scene’s lack of charisma is not rooted in any shortcomings on the part of Johnny Depp or Christian Bale, who each benefit from the absence of fantasy genre dressings to dig into earthier parts, but from a film that teases with the mirror-like structure and sustained intensity of “Heat” only to fall into the easy trap of romanticizing its subject. Critically, “Public Enemies” lacks the impartiality that made “Heat” such a riveting study in contrasts.
Michael Mann’s bias towards Dillinger, manifested most explicitly in a death scene that glosses over its brutality with the caress of slow motion and swollen music. But it’s also a question of focus. Despite Bale’s subdued, conflicted, simmering performance, Purvis remains a rather vague figure. He’s more of a presence in the film, hinting at the greater issues centered around the growth of the FBI under the controversial direction of J. Edgar Hoover (a deliciously fey Billy Crudup who delivers one of the film’s most entertaining performances) without ever truly embodying them. Given the perennial ethical quandary faced by law enforcement constrained by rules criminals actively flaunt, the disturbing ease in which Purvis’ Dillinger task force — and later Hoover himself — ultimately gives up on modern methods in favour of street-style justice is precisely the sort of stuff to test a character’s mettle. The ever-slippery Dillinger, whose charm and cunning keeps him a step ahead of increasingly frustrated lawmen, is just the sort of foil a straight-laced cop needs. Alas, Purvis gets only the personality Bale is allowed to inject into the role and a factually dubious sentence about his eventual fate. Dillinger benefits from a portrayal by the well-costumed sultan of charm himself, Depp, and an operatic send-off replete with dewey-eyed molls.
Here Come the Usual Ploys
It’s as if Mann buys into Dillinger’s undeserved legend as a Robin Hood, a loveable rogue. Yes, Dillinger was an able thief, but he and his boys were also cop killers who, it should be noted, stole from the rich (and the poor, who kept their money in the bank, despite Dillinger’s claims otherwise) and spent it on their own appetites. That Mann prefers the crook to the cop is one thing, but at least give us a portrait that doesn’t involve the usual ploys to evoke sympathy – enough “love” for a girl (an overcooked Marion Cotillard) to do that one last job before retiring forever, a wit and cheek that runs circles around the surrounding clods. Not just ploys, mind you, but the very varnish that seals away the grit and dirt that Mann previously embraced to effective, unsentimental effect in previous films. Mann, a master of the crime drama, isn’t so shallow as to do away with the nastiness, but the undeniably hip style winks and flirts too much to draw blood with the necessary stabs at civilized sensitivities.
Slick as it is, “Public Enemies” surpasses Brian de Palma’s floppy take on James Ellroy’s “The Black Dahlia,” thanks to Mann’s intuition for epics, mastery of the crime drama genre, and skilled craftsmanship. “Public Enemies,” with cars like sleek animals and a pacing as clipped and fast as the rat-a-tat of a Tommy Gun, never bores. Yet, at the risk of flirting with heresy, “Public Enemies” has all the impact of a glossy, violent gangster film without the chops to take it an introspective notch further. Last year’s “The Dark Knight” may have accomplished more in examining crime and order with its fictional setting and outré characters than “Public Enemies” does with a quasi-factual foundation.
Entertainment: * (out of two)
Craft: * (out of two)
Public Enemies. Directed by Michael Mann. Written by Ronan Bennett, Mann and Ann Biderman, based on the book Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34, by Bryan Burrough. Starring Johnny Depp, Christian Bale and Marion Cotillard. 140 minutes. MPAA rating: R (gangster violence, some language).
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