Movie review: Public Enemies

by John P. Meyer

Conflict and dramatic tension are the elements that make for a compelling action picture, and in the initial stages of Public Enemies -- director Michael Mann's first directorial effort since the ill-conceived and unsatisfying Miami Vice -- there isn't much of either. But hold on, things get better. (Or worse, from Public Enemy #1 John Dillinger's point of view.)

The initial lack of conflict stems from the fact that depression-era badman Dillinger (Johnny Depp) is having it all his own way. Which, given his Robin Hood dash and devil-may-care style, makes for a fascinating watch in its own right.

When we pick up the narrative (which is -- refreshingly -- presented in linear fashion, as opposed to flashing backwards and forwards in the timestream, artsy-fartsy fashion), Dillinger is newly ensconced at the Indiana State Pen. It's 1933, and he's got friends on the outside capable of getting things to him on the inside. Things such as guns. Which he and his partners in crime put to immediate good use by taking their guards prisoner and leveraging their way out of the not-so-maximum security facility.

Everything goes without a hitch. (Make that ALMOST without a hitch.) Once sprung, the (surviving) desperados have safe houses, guns, food, and clothing waiting for them down the getaway road.

In a certain sector of the Windy City, the Dillinger gang are afforded resident royalty status. They are immune to law enforcement scrutiny because the law enforcers have been paid to wear blinders. Their ill-gotten gains (from carefully orchestrated, thrillingly envisioned bank heists) provide them with all the high times they can handle: booze, broads and -- well -- anything else they could want that starts with a "b" is theirs for the asking.

Speaking of "b": In a high-toned speakeasy in downtown Chicago, Dillinger makes teasing eye-contact with a stunning "b"runette whose name turns out to be Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard, fresh from her Oscar-winning role as Edith Piaf in La vie en rose). Coming off a particularly hitch-less Wisconsin bank job, Dillinger's in an expansive and thoroughly self-confident mood that brooks no possibility of failure. Even though he can't dance, the lissome Miss Frechette soon finds her feet swept out from under her.

What keeps us fully engaged during this first part of the film (I mean, aside from the top notch acting in the leads) are the machinations going on in the background. FBI director J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup, wearing decidedly more clothing than in his last role) is getting serious about putting high-profile criminals out of business -- even though he's getting a lot of pushback from a senatorial committee that questions his high-dollar equipment and manpower allocations.

Heading up Hoover's field ops is Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale), who gets an early leg up on crime fighting by gunning down Pretty Boy Floyd (Channing Tatum, whose fighting skills here desert him; not to mention his dancing ones). When Purvis and his inexperienced, hastily-armed bookkeepers and desk jockeys find themselves going up against a gang of hardened killers, however, they fare considerably less well than when chasing a lone felon through an apple orchard. So Purvis suggests to Hoover that they call in more seasoned lawmen -- from Oklahoma and Texas, no less.

When Texan Charles Winstead (Stephen Lang, stealing his every scene with clear-eyed, deadly competence) arrives to advise and assist Agent Purvis on matters relating to criminal apprehension (i.e., killing the bad guys as opposed to having them kill you), things really start to get interesting. Because it's also at this point that things get decidedly more difficult for John Dillinger.

Seems he's become a victim of his own success: as a result of his notoriety (he escapes from prison a second time using a carved wooden gun painted with shoe polish), anyone who's ever had anything to do with him finds themselves under the watchful gaze -- and occasionally the iron fist -- of the FBI. Right down to the haberdasher that sold him an overcoat in Cleveland. The Bureau, meanwhile, is gaining ever-greater resources as their Movietone-fueled PR campaign (ref. Junior G-Men) picks up national momentum.

Simultaneously, a new brand of lawbreaking is gaining traction. It's far less dangerous (and far, FAR more lucrative) than bank robbing: it's the organized betting syndicate run by guys like Frank Nitti (Bill Camp), whose boiler room bookie operation takes bets from all over the country. When Nitti realizes that Dillinger's continued freedom of movement threatens to take down his own interstate enterprise, the blood-red writing is on the wall -- and strange bedfellows are cultivated.

Nobody directs gunfights better than Michael Mann (nobody living, anyway), and there are some doozies in this movie, beginning with the shootout at Little Bohemia. There, a down-on-his-luck Dillinger is forced to hole up with the mad-dog likes of Baby Face Nelson (Stephen Graham, in a gleefully murderous turn) following a particularly hitch-ridden bank job.

Acting on a tip obtained by means far worse than waterboarding, the Feds surround the place. In contradiction to Winstead's counsel advising for reinforcements, Purvis initiates an assault on the facility, and all Hell -- in the form of flying copper-jacketed bullets -- breaks loose. Eventually, Baby Face goes down, trenching the field in front of him with his blazing Chicago typewriter. But Purvis' main quarry -- John Dillinger -- escapes.

As for the love story, it's a potent one. Depp and Cotillard burn up the film stock. The passion experienced by their characters is clearly both physical and romantic; their bond becomes indelible, and when Billie is taken away from Dillinger we're given to understand that he's got nothing left to live for. Before the inevitable ending, he pays a nose-thumbing visit to the Chicago Police "Dillinger Task Force" HQ, as if to proclaim: you guys ain't got nothin' on me.

The 140-minute film is brim full of period-accurate touches, including the weaponry (see sidebar); the telephone taps (recorded on vinyl platters); the Ford Trimotor air transport; the classic Ford V-8 autos (with running boards!); and the magnesium flares used for nighttime camera illumination. Yeah, the early parts are somewhat tedious and episodic, but the bravura final reels make this the must-see action flick of the summer.