[yasr_overall_rating]
When bike courier Chris witnesses what looks like a murder, his first instinct is to cut and run. But when his curiosity draws him back in, he’s soon embroiled in a world of corruption, political power, and illegal bike racing.
In 2012, David Koepp directed the Joseph Gordon-Levitt starrer “Premium Rush,” a high-concept film whose premise could be summarized in four words: “bike messenger vs. cop.” While entertaining, it rushed out of your mind as swiftly as its hero cyclist dropped off packages. It was simple and effective entertainment, one that was meant to be ephemeral. Director Ian Bonhôte delivers a cheapo British version of “PR,” but needlessly overcomplicates the plot, infusing it with a wildly hipster mentality, a political subplot and illegal bike racing. As a result, we get a weird, half-baked concoction that doesn’t provide an incisive look into the dark world of rebel cyclists, or work as a thriller, or political commentary for that matter.
The film gets right down to business. While delivering a package, Chris (Josh Whitehouse), a struggling bike courier with a GoPro on his helmet, stumbles upon Yates (John Hannah, hamming it up), a member of Parliament, leaning over a corpse. The GoPro conveniently serves two purposes: it records the alleged murder and provides us with shaky POV shots, a staple that’s been stapled to death. Several days later, a newspaper article reveals that the body belonged to the MP’s intern.
Chris’ sister Danni (Eleanor Tomlinson) comes back into his life – and we’re promptly introduced to their gang of Alleycats, a renegade group of illegal bike racers who hang out in clubs that play hard-pounding drum’n’bass, and sprays graffiti and tattoos like there’s no tomorrow. They party and bond and race illegally. “The one rule is that there are no rules,” one character proclaims. It’s all so forcefully badass, all middle fingers, anarchy and punk rock, as seen through the eyes of a misfit angsty teen. So far, so fast, so furious – with the Hollywood franchise’s glossy sheen stripped off and shredded, then reassembled by a group of amateurs.
Anyway, Chris gets run over by a car, the hit ordered by – you guessed it – Mr. Yates. Distraught, Danni and her gang give him a ceremonial burial – complete with a bike studded with photos of Chris, and buckets of black eye shadow. Dannie decides to investigate, with the help of the dead intern’s father, George (John Lynch), who’s all disheveled, stammering, “Yates, that fucking bastard has something to do with it, I know it… I saw some emails…” Well, of course you did. And so, about 48 minutes into this 100-minute feature, the plot kicks into high gear (clever, I know), as Danni and George’s trail leads them into a dark world of corruption, and a finale that involves a grisly murder, a sex scandal, unexpected betrayal and a masked (!) bike race. It’s all boring as hell.
Aside from the fact that “Alleycats” marks the curious reunion of John Hannah and John Lynch, who shared the screen 18 years ago in the romcom “Sliding Doors” (and don’t actually share it here, come to think of it), and a few mildly diverting scenes here and there, Bonhôte’s film is a disaster. It’s cheaply and crudely shot. It’s horridly scored, as if the world’s worst DJ picked the tracklist – save for one song choice, which happens to supplement the best sequence in the film, involving Danni following someone in the underground station. The gang painfully overacts, trying to “out-cool” and/or “out-hipster” each other. I instantly disliked the characters, all of whom are underdeveloped twits. “It’s just a hit and run,” Danni speaks bitterly of the police’s negligence. “Another stupid courier.” This is a real issue, folks! Pay attention please.
Eleanor Tomlinson, whose stunning big eyes and porcelain complexion certainly captivate, lacks any semblance of depth underneath the beauty. A romantic subplot (because this film doesn’t have enough going on) between Danni and Jake (Sam Keeley), the one member of the Alleycats who helps her, is uninvolving and utterly lacking in chemistry. Oh, and there’s a French character called… French. This is as inventive as the film gets.
“Alleycats” should have taken some cues from its Hollywood big brother and stuck to simplicity. Aimed at a very narrow target demographic who are too busy changing gears, this dud pedals away, but never gains momentum. Go rent a Cannondale instead.
Now available on Video On Demand
