The premiere of Jeff Nichols' film 'The Bikeriders' has taken place online, in which the roar of motorcycles cannot drown out the thoughts and aspirations of their owners.

Two motorcyclists with weathered faces — Johnny (Tom Hardy) and Benny (Austin Butler) — silently cruise through the working-class outskirts of one-story America on beautiful bikes. The first is tired of family life, having watched too many movies with Marlon Brando and formed a motorcycle gang. The second is a mysterious free rider, daring and silent, simultaneously reminiscent of James Dean and a young Val Kilmer. Stern looks, battered fists, gasoline-soaked jackets, endless amounts of booze and cigarettes to the tunes of Howlin' Wolf and Bob Dylan, sparing male tears (and only if you're being separated from your motorcycle; otherwise, no way, even if your leg is almost torn off).

This is how director Jeff Nichols ('Take Shelter', 'Mud') paints the portrait of late-60s bikers. Or rather, not he, but the author of the book 'Outlaw', Danny Lyon, whose work Nichols carefully tried to transfer to the screen. The main narrator and guide through the plot is Benny's wife, Kathy (the brilliant Jodie Comer), who is interviewed by Lyon (Mike Faist). In general, the film's acting ensemble is one of its main strengths. All representatives of the usual cinematic masculinity are gathered here. Besides Hardy and Butler, screen time is given to Boyd Holbrook, Nichols' favorite actor, Michael Shannon, Emory Cohen, and, seemingly born for the role of a wild biker, Norman Reedus.

'The Bikeriders' is also akin to both and a lion's share of Scorsese's filmography. Nichols also tells about the general through the particular, about a male society closed from others with its own rules, boundless freedom, thirst for adrenaline, a sense of brotherhood, a family that is sorely missed outside the biker circle. Live outside the system, take what's yours, and don't fear strangers. Even a revolver appears at a critical moment and fires only once, but that is enough to be cruelly deceived in one's own choice of the right path.

Yevgeny Belousov

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Only if Zhora Kryzhovnikov already stated the fact of the existence of counterculture, showing the involvement of young guys in it, then Nichols tries to capture the moment when carefree rides and almost family picnics suddenly turned into brutal and bloody brawls for a place in the hierarchy among already mature men. He manages to feel this pulse in the film perhaps better than anything else. Artistically, this is emphasized by Hardy's constantly worried face, who looks with a sad gaze at his shattered creation, sincerely not understanding where he missed the main turn. With such a poetic pamphlet, Nichols summed up the sunny 60s and showed the onset of the 70s — a cruel, murky, and troubled time. An almost Shakespearean plot framed by the sound of engines and the smell of gasoline.

As for that very roar of engines, adrenaline, speeds, beautiful motorcycles, one would like to see more of it; after all, the title 'The Bikeriders' somehow obliges to that. However, Nichols pushes the hum of bikes and the daring of showdowns somewhere to the background, preferring not to savor violence but to focus on the way of life and aspirations of men in leather jackets. He gets so carried away that he misses the moment when the plot rushes past and all that remains is to sadly watch it go. And there is only one chase here, and it is very short: Benny couldn't escape the police for a banal reason — he simply ran out of gas. Stupid, funny, but quite in line with the director's thought: you can't run far from yourself, and the general emptiness and lostness at the turn of two eras cannot be overshadowed by the shine of a chrome tank.