Michael Mann has constucted an entertaining period film with his latest release, Public Enemies. The film recounts the exploits of bank robber John Dillinger during the Great Depression. Although he may be an outlaw, Dillinger captures the public imagination with his charisma and Robin Hood persona. Initially, Dillinger was sent to prison for robbing a grocery store. He regretted the crime because of the kind nature of the store owner but became embittered towards society because of a sentence that he felt was excessive. After leaving prison, he successfully organizes a series of daring bank robberies but always steals from the bank, never the customers with whom he sympathizes.
This empathy becomes his downfall as he becomes involved in a relationship with “Billie” Frechette and remains loyal to individuals whom he should avoid. When she is arrested because the police wish to squeeze him, he remains in Chicago and is eventually killed. Dillinger’s inability to quit when he is ahead and refusal to change leads to his downfall outside a movie theatre in Chicago. Like another biopic that I screened this year, Milk, Public Enemies remains tense despite the fact that you know the protagonist is going to get it eventually.
Mann alters the facts to suit his needs. The timeline of the story is not entirely accurate but it makes for a more interesting story. Mann devises a situation where Dillinger is the last of his gang at large but that it not really the case. The director creates an image of a rebellious anti-hero but it is not until late in the film that Dillinger reveals exactly what motivates him. The film seems to correctly portray the public and media hysteria towards the criminal, showing perhaps that the more things change, the more things remain the same.
At times it seems as if Christian Bale’s role, agent Melvin Purvis, offers the more compelling character. As pressure from Washington increases and methods within the F.B.I. increase, Purvis seems to be conflicted, asking himself the question posed by the recently deceased Robert McNamara as he reflected on the Vietnam war: “What makes it immoral if you lose and not immoral if you win?” As Purvis employs increasingly extreme measures in order to apprehend Dillinger, the agent has more and more trouble living with himself. Twenty years after the shooting death of John Dillinger, Melvin Purvis shoots himself.
Who is the noblest character, the criminal who always sticks with his friends or the lawman who may have executed Pretty Boy Floyd in cold blood? Neither is exactly who they seem, residing among shades of grey rather than the moral absolutes of good and bad, like the rest of the citizens of the world. **½