For movie-watchers who have wished that modern cinema was less reliant on boilerplate dialogue and tell-don’t-show exposition dumps, Motor City plays like a monkey’s paw curling in slow motion. At first, Potsy Ponciroli’s self-consciously pulpy revenge thriller seems like it’s kicking off with a showy elision of the verbal clumsiness that trips all over so many movies at every level, from indies to big-budget behemoths—the kind of writing that invites a wish that the characters could just shut up a little more often. To this end, Ponciroli throws John Miller (Alan Ritchson, TV’s Jack Reacher) straight into a Death Proof car-hood action sequence staged like a Zack Snyder cinematic splash page; at one point our man leaps from a car whilst blasting a shotgun packed full of coins and, crucially, a wedding ring. The action speaks louder than, well, you know.
If attributing a hood-riding stunt to a Quentin Tarantino movie seems shortsighted (especially when it’s not preceded by any Tarantino-style banter), consider that Ponciroli scores this scene to David Bowie’s theme from Cat People. In addition to being written for Paul Schrader’s 1983 remake, the song was memorably revived by Tarantino for Inglourious Basterds. That use was itself a cheeky undermining of Tarantino’s own edict about the stolen valor of re-using another movie’s famous needle drop; another movie pressing play a third time, right at the top of the movie no less, just makes it seem like the filmmaker in question either doesn’t watch a lot of movies, or has watched so many of them that he has no other source of music.
The latter feels more likely when it becomes clear that there’s still a whole soundtrack’s worth of secondhand needledrops in Motor City‘s jukebox. It turns out that Motor City isn’t just announcing itself with a flashy wordless opening sequence. As the movie jumps back in time to follow Miller as an ex-con trying to ride the straight and narrow with his beloved girlfriend Sophia (Shailene Woodley) and ultimately getting framed in a drug bust planned by the nefarious actual dealer Reynolds (Ben Foster), Ponciroli avoids depicting on-screen dialogue whenever possible. (There are a handful of audible lines whose de facto underlining overburdens them with presumed meaning.) Throughout a prison break, tragic deaths, and promises of vengeance, characters aren’t always keeping mum, as with the hero of John Woo’s recent Silent Night; the filmmakers just muffle or overscore their occasional words in favor of more action—and more songs that’ve been better-used in other movies.
Ponciroli whips out tunes like “Nights In White Satin” (as heard in Casino) and “The Chain” (as heard in Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 2 and I, Tonya in the same damn year), not evoking the movie’s 1970s Detroit setting so much as the second-string prestige TV version of crate-digging. Surprisingly, a smidge of blame can be ascribed to Detroit’s favorite son Jack White, who usually has far more interesting taste than indicated here by his work as the “music director” (distinct from the position of music supervisor, which is credited to Joe Galdo, or music editor, credited to Ronald J. Webb). Maybe the whole thing should have been White-soundtracked (as is, he contributes one song); most of his recent work hasn’t yet been overplayed to death.
Still, obvious music cues alone can’t torpedo a movie’s attempts at slow-mo majesty. Ponciroli has plenty of other techniques for that. Motor City boasts a couple of gnarly fights and well-staged chases, but the low-dialogue gimmick just as often lends the movie a po-faced quasi-operatic heaviness. Novelty turns to tedium as scenes repeatedly involve actors miming ancient clichés instead of reciting them. Evocative as this approach can be, especially early on, the stunt never does much for characters like Foster’s millionth off-the-shelf tortured sleazebag or, especially, the girlfriend-shaped doll inexplicably played by Woodley, the most overqualified member of a should-be-solid cast. Technical ambition doesn’t make the movie’s retrograde treatment of women ironic or clever.
Ritchson, on the other hand, seems perfectly suited to play the strong and silent type in a movie that strictly enforces both of those qualities. Yet even his action-man bona fides feel overfamiliar by the end of Motor City, not least because there are other recent (if little-seen) thrillers like Night Nurse and Wardriver that use low-dialogue passages more effectively and less ostentatiously, and that have supporting characters who feel well-drawn beyond their ability to fuck the other guy up when cornered. Motor City pulls up with its engine rumbling and revving, ready to unleash pulp-opera action. Eventually the air just starts to fill with exhaust.
Director: Potsy Ponciroli
Writer: Chad St. John
Starring: Alan Ritchson, Ben Foster, Shailene Woodley, Ben McKenzie, Pablo Schreiber
Release Date: July 24, 2026
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