Review: Public Enemies

It’s hard, when you follow the film business closely, to not have certain expectations when you walk into a movie. Public Enemies, Michael Mann’s lavish take on the era of the celebrity bank robbers during the Great Depression, certainly seemed like it would be the definitive take on this subject, casting a popular movie star, Johnny Depp, as John Dillinger. The film doesn’t quite achieve that epic status, and at the same time falls slightly short as a popcorn entertainment. It is sporadically brilliant, though, and on the whole I recommend it, but it’s no Godfather. It’s not even Heat.

I mention Heat, Mann’s great crime film from the 90s, because Public Enemies has certain parallels. The story follows a criminal and his pursuer, who only have one meeting before one kills the other one. The comparison pretty much stops there, though, because unlike Heat, Public Enemies doesn’t explore the inner psyches of the characters. We really don’t know what makes them tick.

The film is ostensibly the story of Dillinger, who was not only a public enemy during 1933 and 1934, robbing several banks and killing several police officers, but he was also a huge celebrity. In a time when banks were held in contempt, Dillinger was cheered on by much of the populace, applauded when his face appeared in newsreels. In Mann’s film the dack is stacked for him with the casting of Depp, a megastar, who plays him with a sleek sensuality. Contrast this to Warren Oates’ portrayal in John Milius’ 1973 film, Dillinger. Oates, a fine actor, would never have been said to exhibit sleek sensuality.

For the most part the film is accurate as it depicts Dillinger’s crime wave from his escape from prison in 1933 to his death in 1934. There are a few changes to the truth: Dillinger’s men did escape from the pen at Michigan City, Indiana through the use of smuggled rifles, but Dillinger was in jail at the time (they later busted him out); Pretty Boy Floyd died after Dillinger did, not before; Baby Face Nelson didn’t die at Little Bohemia; but the shell of the truth is there and it shouldn’t bother experts on the subject. In fact, there are some details that are myth-bustingly true, such as The Lady in Red was actually a lady in orange. What may bother historians is that Depp’s Dillinger is a romantic anti-hero, much like Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway made Bonnie and Clyde. But Dillinger was really just a thug, more Warren Oates than Johnny Depp.

The spine of this film is Dillinger’s relationship with Billie Frechette, a hat-check girl played by Marion Cotillard, and frankly these portions of the film are dull. I didn’t find any chemistry between the two (I’m not sure Depp has ever been convincing in a consummated romance–he’s always excelled more at being the oddball who can’t have requited love). Cotillard is fine and easy on the eyes but the whole relationship, to me, dragged down the story.

Instead the best parts of Public Enemies are the set-pieces. I thought the film really picked up steam during Dillinger’s escape from the Crown Point, Indiana jail, in which he used a wooden gun (that, hard to believe, was true). The editing by Jeffrey Ford and Paul Rubell is spot-on. Then, the shootout at Little Bohemia, a lodge in Wisconsin where the gang was hiding out, is the highlight of the film. The choreography and sound combine to form an almost balletic orgy of violence, and the image of one of gangster going down in a hail of bullets, his machine gun blazing, is an arresting one. And finally Dillinger’s death, outside the Biograph theater, is a fitting climax, shot with precision and powerful emotion.

The problem with Mann’s film is what comes in between. The romance is ineffective, perhaps because we really have no idea who Dillinger is. He mentions spending a long time in prison for a minor offense, but aside from a Bull Durham-like list of things he likes (“baseball, movies, fast cars, and you”) he’s an enigma. Even more of a cypher is Melvin Purvis, the dedicated G-man who hunts him down. He’s played by Christian Bale, who’s a fairly big star in his own right, but there’s nothing there to tell us what his motivation is, other than doing his job (Purvis killed himself in 1960, which is mentioned in the closing moments of the film, but there’s nothing in the script or the performance to tip us off as to why). A more interesting performance is by Billy Crudup, a weird choice to play the gnomic J. Edgar Hoover, but a canny one, giving us a glimpse of the man who would one day be among the post powerful men in America.

Public Enemies, despite these faults, resonates. The imagery of a man in a long top-coat and fedora, a machine gun crooked in his arm, has undeniable power. The costumes of Colleen Atwood are terrific, and all the period cars and locations are exquisitely done. I do have complaints about Dante Spinotti’s photography, as there is way too much hand-held stuff. Or more precisely, hand-held stuff that is not smoothy photographed, and makes the viewer motion sick. I see no reason for it other than hubris.

Given that this film was made in a time when banks are once again thought of with disdain, it makes some interesting statements. Mann has added an element with the addition of characters from the “Syndicate,” such as Frank Nitti, who end up considering rogue bank robbers as irritants. There is a pointed scene when Dillinger is shown a bookmaking operation that makes as much money in a day as Dillinger can in one job, and without anybody shooting at each other. Mann clearly sees Dillinger as the last of a species, which is perhaps why he is tinged in romantic hues. That makes for a handsome thing to look at, but not a particularly substantive one.