Creating a near-wordless film in the modern era is a challenging exercise. Sometimes it utterly implodes, as with John Woo’s 2023 Silent Night, my pick for worst film of that year. When done interestingly, however, it can reveal how much storytelling one can do entirely visually without a word spoken. The good news for Motor City is that it achieves this multiple times throughout, across multiple emotional valences. The bad news is it also does the other thing even interesting wordless films can do: remind us why dialogue is often effective and enjoyable.

In late-70s Detroit, John Miller (Alan Ritchson) has himself a regular all-time romance with Sophia (Shailene Woodley). We can tell by a pair of adorable montages of them being adorable. Finally done with probation, he springs for an engagement ring. However, moments after scoring that coveted yes, cops raid their home, arresting him for drug charges. The frame-up is clear to the audience and good cop Kent (Ben McKenzie) immediately. Unfortunately, drug kingpin/Sophia’s abusive ex Reynolds (Ben Foster) holds a grudge and has deep pockets. With corrupt Lieutenant Savick (Pablo Schreiber) on the take and bricks of planted evidence, John’s sent away.

While John broods and works out, Kent keeps the faith on the outside, still working the case. Sophia, however, cannot. It isn’t long before she succumbs to the temptations of an easy life, ensnared by Reynolds once again. When word gets back to John, he can’t stay in prison any longer. Together with his two veteran buddies Youngblood (a sturdy Lionel Boyce) and Singh (Amar Chadha-Patel, so goddamn cool), he plans to escape and enact vengeance on the land.

This is an action-oriented film, particularly in its closing act, but everyone is on the same page. Stunt coordinators Doug Coleman and Richard Burden construct some fairly rough fight scenes. They also make space for the occasional beauty stunt shot like a shower of sparks triggered by a bomb or John balletically flying off the hood of the car. Director Potsy Ponciroli and Cinematographer John Matysiak, in turn, do a great job of capturing their actors emoting without derailing the action. If either piece of that equation overshadows the other, the film doesn’t have a chance at working. Finding that equilibrium is crucial.

Motor City’s wordlessness serve some actors and characters better than others. McKenzie, who has stumbled into being a figure of moral righteousness on and off screen since The O.C., gives face plenty well. However, denying Kent dialogue strands the actor. It reduces what could’ve been a juicy part to a series of looking at photos and disapproving headshakes. Woodley is actually pretty great overall, but Sophia’s seduction and fall into depravity post-John’s incarceration could be even headier if she were really able to dig into the nuances of that complicated arc. Others seem to flourish. Foster, in particular, seems to delight in playing a character reduced to a handful of mannerisms and tics. Chadha-Patel and Schreiber stand out as well, though theirs are more about what they keep off their face than what they show.

Ritchson, while not bad in the lead, ends up strangely upstaged by most of his costars. In fact, what resonates most about him as John is his various looks. He starts the film looking more like a live-action Adam of Eternia than Nicholas Galitzine ever did. At another point, makeup effects and prosthetics give him such a heavy brow and sunken eyes, he looks more like a take on the classic Frankenstein look than himself.

In lieu of dialogue, Motor City gives itself over to brief moments of score from Steve Jablonsky and nearly wall-to-wall soundtrack hand-selected by Jack White, also seen as a restaurant pianist. One wishes for more of the score, a work inspired by but not beholden to the period, thus allowing for fascinating detours. Sadly, the soundtrack dominates. With all due respect to White, a tremendous musician and low-key funny man, a handful of achingly obvious choices mar the needle drops. It’s not that a soundtrack needs be obscure, but a little more crate diving and a little less “Nights in White Satin” would’ve been appreciated.

It should be noted that the film does cheat a bit with a “hey” here and an expletive there. Oddly, Woodley tends to get most of them. It is hard to say if this is a canny meta-joke on how often women are relegated to the sidelines in these kinds of revenge pictures. There isn’t a ton of material textually to build that argument. It feels just as likely that it might be accidental.

Besides Silent Night, the movie I found myself comparing this feature to most while watching was Gus Van Sant’s shot-for-shot remake of Psycho. In both cases, I have respect for the endeavor each is undertaking. If I encountered either in film class, I’d be impressed with their ambition. However, things start to fall apart when either is graded as a work of entertainment, not just an exercise in filmmaking. That said, Motor City does fare better than the remake, buffeting the wordlessness with excellent stuntwork and a largely game cast. Nonetheless, it is ultimately a middling revenge film whose shortcomings undermine any argument that the results are worth the dialogue sacrificed.

Motor City is driving domestic in theatres now.

Motor City Trailer: