Public Enemies (2009)
From Michael Mann comes a superlong crime drama shot with pop operatic grace: what else is new, right? The choice to go digital isn’t, but it’s rarely panned out so well: fog moves in startling wrinkles across the forest at night; muzzle flashes illuminate distinctly a hundred times per second with each burst of machine gun fire. And while the fatalist arc of Dillinger’s story can sap one’s endurance and interest, individually shattering moments—the torture of a dying man for information, full weighty dread sewn into the gift of an expensive fur coat, a white plume of a last breath in a barren field—imbue the film with anxiety if not suspense. Big-picture concerns about the rise of organized crime vs. old-fashioned outlaws or increasingly controversial measures taken by a nascent FBI are painted in quick, short brush strokes, and it’s tough to say whether these themes are efficiently deployed or just a cruel tease for people looking to fill a void left by The Wire. And who wouldn’t crave that breadth and depth in all their culturally resonant entertainment? Sadly, the movie doesn’t have time for it amid the shootouts, nor could I imagine a successful version that would. You’ll have to settle for the perverse way Johnny Depp can smirk and then seem to forget how to smirk, or the deep regret with which Christian Bale moves through each frame. For most of us, that’s probably more than enough.
