Review: The Nice Guys

The Nice Guys (15)

USA 2016 116 mins Dir: Shane Black Cast: Ryan Gosling, Russell Crowe, Angourie Rice, Matt Bomer, Keith David, Kim Basinger

A fatally injured porn star in a state of undress expires in front of a bewildered young kid. A bumbling private detective on the hunt for clues gets drunk and falls backwards almost impercetibly off a terrace. A mop-haired baddie is identified by the immovable blue colour dye smearing his face. There’s no denying that Lethal Weapon writer Shane Black’s latest is in his usual style a tonal rollercoaster, mixing up laughs, affection and occasional moments of bloody shock. The joy of The Nice Guys is how brilliantly it all comes together to deliver a rip-roaring ode to 1970s Los Angeles that expertly traverses the divide between the nostalgic and the sordid.

Black nails his colours to the mast early on, beginning with a striking aerial shot over the derelict Hollywood sign to the sound of funk-tastic staple Papa Was A Rolling Stone. We then lead into aforementioned death scene, porn star Misty Mountains crashing her car through somebody’s house in a scene that promises a dark journey to come. Really though, Black is out to give us a good time, something that becomes immediately apparent when we’re introduced to Ryan Gosling as hapless private detective Holland March.

Barely competent at his job yet shrewd enough to follow the money when he smells it, March has a barely disguised drinking problem stemming from a tragic incident in his past; truthfully, he is shown up by his endlessly resourceful and intelligent young daughter Holly (seriously impressive newcomer Angourie Rice, who almost walks away with the movie). Gosling is an absolute riot in the role, building on his comic chops seen in Crazy Stupid Love but honing his slapstick skills (and hilariously piercing scream) to a genuinely joyous extent. His battle against an errant toilet door whilst attempting to juggle a cigarette and a magazine over his junk must be one of the year’s funniest scenes.

He makes the ideal partner to the gruff but equally likeable Russell Crowe, here back on top L.A. Confidential form as tough-guy-with-a-heart-of-gold Jackson Healy. (Crowe’s Oscar-winning L.A. Confidential co-star Kim Basinger also makes a knowing appearance as the city’s compromised District Attorney.) When circumstances bring the two men together (following a wince-inducing yet hilarious arm-snapping incident), they decide to work together to find out what happened to Misty Mountains, the twisty-turny nature of the ensuing plot less important than the snappy banter and general bonhomie that goes along with it.

It’s a prototypical Shane Black story, a chalk and cheese partnership thrown in a blender with noir trappings, an implausibly plucky young kid who often bests the grown-ups (echoes of Iron Man 3), a City of Angels setting and even a bit of Christmas. However by this stage Black has honed his formula to such an extent that we don’t really care whether he’s traversing the same ground as his terrific 2005 directorial debut Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (and truth be told, he is). Instead, we’re invited to revel in the splendour of a reinvented Ryan Gosling and a reujvenated Russell Crowe, clearly having an absolute blast with Black’s pitch-perfect reconstruction of a decade gone-to-seed, all disco-lit pool parties and flared trousers that barely cover up the stench emanating from beneath.

And there’s no denying that Black still has a flair for the brilliantly twisted set-piece: on the hunt for clues, March and Healy come across an anti-smog protest group on the steps of city hall, all feigning death whilst wearing gas masks in order to highlight the city’s rampant air pollution. It’s only when Healy points out that the presence of gas masks would in fact save their lives that the atmosphere is punctured in Black’s typically razor-sharp fashion. It’s the movie in a nutshell: a brilliantly observed recreation of recent history tailored to its creator’s signature wit, all set to the grooviest of soundtracks. Sleazy never seemed so sweet.