It takes a while, but this movie finally gets under your skin, and you lose yourself in Michael Mann. As I sat there and ticked off things to criticize -- comparisons to 'Bonnie and Clyde,' little attention paid to the Depression, why a Welshman plays Melvin Purvis -- what happened is what always happens at a great movie. The movie-lover shuffles off his mortal coil by losing himself at the movies.
I sit, shortly after, still in awe of Michael Mann. In Public Enemies the camera glides like Roger Federer on a tennis court, always in the right place at the right time for the great shot. Sure, the script doesn't do the director any favors, and logic, even movie logic, is an early victim, but great direction trumps all.
Any story about John Dillinger has the elements of great Americana: all sound and fury, pistols, machine guns, fast cars, molls and tough men. Hollywood has never gone wrong in choosing actors to be Dillinger, be it Lawrence Tierney, the great Warren Oates, or, now, Johnny Depp.
I remember going to see Bonnie and Clyde when it came out. Seeing it without the knowledge and hype that accompanies every major movie release these days. Walking into the theater and sitting in the darkness as the credits began. The clear white letters on a black screen slowly turning to blood red. Little knowledge of the stars, well, maybe, Warren Beatty. But, no one knew Gene Hackman, no one had ever heard of Faye Dunaway and I only knew about Arthur Penn because he had made The Chase. And, only because my brother and I were connoisseurs of Marlon Brando getting beaten up in movies. No one ever in the history of movies was beaten up more convincingly on film (or worse) than Marlon Brando.
An aside: Karl Malden died a few days ago, one of our greatest actors. To some he will always be Dad Longworth, the one-eyed jack of 'One Eyed Jacks.' When he beat up Marlon Brando (well, actually whipped him ... Marlon Brando was as convincing being whipped as punched), Brando tied to rail, Marlon Brando, playing Rio looked back at Dad and growled, "You better kill me..."
Ah, what a movie.
The point is that no one knew Arthur Penn either.
But we all know Michael Mann and await, with fingers trembling for popcorn, his new movies. From Miami Vice the TV show, Miami Vice the movie or the incredible Manhunter, we know him. As we do the stars of Public Enemies: Johnny Depp and Marion Cotillard and the great Christian Bale. So, unlike Bonnie and Clyde there are and were "expectations." Which can be impediments to enjoyment.
And, first impression roadblocks there were ... Christian Bale ... why him? I wasted time carefully listening for accent mistakes. Marion as the love interest, why her? Only in Hollywood, the Hollywood of blue-eyed Native Americans in old Westerns, would cast a Frenchwoman, Edith Piaf, Mon dieu, as a Native American from Wisconsin. Critical checklists were being checked for 20 minutes; potential complaints were stacking up as I sat there, thinking, oh God, two more hours of this?
Then Michael Mann did his movie magic. I was swept up in his vision, into his movie, in the way he moves the camera, in the way he frames a scene, in the way he uses music. One second I was a critic and the next just a moviegoer.
My reactions reminded me of another movie I saw by an equally talented director.
Terrence Malick and his The New World.
So idiosyncratic, so personal, such visuals, such a languorous style telling a complicated story, such long takes and sometimes nothing seeming to happen on the screen. I fought against The New World, started shifting in my seat and wondering how to gracefully exit, but then, somewhere in the movie, I stopped fighting, me against an artist's vision and talent, and let it go. Let myself slide into the unknown, except through art, world of 17th century America. Let it go into the kind of movie experience that is created by a genius like Terrence Malick. Or, in Public Enemies, Michael Mann.
John Dillinger's story by Michael Mann. Actors subsumed by his direction, the action scenes arresting and violence made lyrical. A two-and-a half-hour movie that seemed over far too soon. Johnny Depp becoming John Dillinger, strange accent and all, Marion's fragile toughness becoming Billy and Christian Bale's ferocious intensity making me forget accents or YouTube rants.
There is something ineffable about Michael Mann's direction in this movie. Something about his use of colors, as is his signature style, the use of swelling, bass heavy music to make his scenes reach from the screen and grab your emotions, what he shows you on the screen. It's so Michael Mann. The texture of his movies, so personal, literally filled and made special by his Mann-erisms. Take any frame from his movies, and, like Fellini, Ford, Scorsese, Ridley Scott, every movie lover would know, from one shot, who the director was immediately. Probably, every movie lover could close their eyes and listen to just how music was used and know, as well.
It's a great movie experience, despite the script, because of Michael Mann's talent.
Perhaps, style over substance, but movies have always been more than the sum of their parts. Great ones are anyway.
