The Bikeriders: America in Decay and Contentious Generational Divides Have Long Been a Motif of the Nation

One wonders, sometimes, if there was ever truly a period in U.S. history that was “golden,” so much as the nation being in an ever-increasing state of decline from the moment it was roguely founded. For while the present set of circumstances befalling the United States has rightfully convinced many Americans that things can’t possibly get more dystopian/reach a new nadir, to some extent, that has been the story of America for most of its relatively brief existence. And yet, starting in the early sixties (circa 1962), it was apparent that the United States was already beginning to experience the symptoms of some major “growing pains” unlike any it had ever known. A seismic cultural shift was afoot, and perhaps one of the most notable signs was the increase in “outlaw” motorcycle clubs across the country.

Such as the one created by Johnny Davis (Tom Hardy), leader of the Vandals Motorcycle Club. An “MC” based on the real-life Outlaws Motorcycle Club that Danny Lyon was a member of from 1963 to 1967 (two years before Easy Rider would enshrine “the culture”), becoming one for the purpose of being able to authentically photograph and generally document the life and times of this “fringe” society. It is Lyon’s book that serves as the basis for Jeff Nichols’ fifth film, The Bikeriders (the same name as Lyon’s photographic tome). And, although Johnny is the founder of the Vandals MC, it is Benny Cross (Austin Butler) who serves as the “true” representation of what it means to live the biker lifestyle: being aloof, mysterious (through muteness) and not at all concerned with or interested in settling down in any one place, with any one person. That is, until the anchor of the story and its telling, Kathy Bauer (Jodie Comer, wielding her best impression of a Midwest accent), shows up one night in the bar where the Vandals hang out. As she retells it to the film version of Lyon, played by Challengers’ Mike Faist, a friend of hers called her up and told her to come by and meet her there.

From the moment Kathy walked in, she said she had never felt more out of place in her entire life. This being further compounded by all the ogling aimed in her direction. Creeped out to the max, Kathy tells her friend she’s going to leave, but is stopped in her tracks by the sight of the muscular Benny standing in front of the pool table. She decides to go back to her chair, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’ll come over and talk to her. But before that happens, Johnny approaches her first, assuring that he’s not going to let anything happen to her. Kathy’s response is of an eye-rolling nature and, when she and Benny finally get to talking, she still tells him she has to go. And she does…but not without being pawed on the way out. So pawed, in fact, that when she makes it back onto the street, her white pants are covered with handprints. Alas, the pursuit isn’t over, with Benny casually walking outside, going over to his motorcycle and mounting it as Kathy watches, realizing that the hordes from the MC are coming out to essentially force her to take a ride with him so as to avoid their wolf-like, unsettling nature.

From that night onward, Benny waits outside her house once he drops her off, sitting on his motorcycle with stoic determination. Which, yes, comes across as even more stalker-y than Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) showing up to Diane Court’s (Ione Skye) house in Say Anything… to hold a boombox over his head and play Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” Even though Kathy already has a live-in boyfriend, Benny just keeps waiting. Irritating the shit out of the boyfriend with his presence until he finally splits in a huff, leaving the door open, so to speak, for Benny to make his move without Kathy being able to have any excuse to “resist” him. Although she starts out by telling Danny that her life has been nothing but trouble ever since she met Benny, with him constantly getting in brawls, being thrown in jail, etc. (indeed, it smacks of the sentiment behind Sabrina Carpenter’s “Please Please Please”), she admits that they got married just five months after meeting. Thus, her house effectively becomes another home away from home for many of the boys in the club. A hangout where motorcycles parked on the sidewalk vex Kathy to no end as she warns them that the neighbors will start to complain of a “bad element” in the vicinity.

Ironically, of course, the main reason many of these boys chose to join up was because they were deemed a “bad element” based on their appearance alone. As Johnny’s right-hand man, Brucie (Damon Herriman), tells Danny, “You don’t belong nowhere else, so you belong together.” Basically, the misfits create their own “utopian” society where they can at last find acceptance in a world that has otherwise rejected them. As Johnny Stabler (Marlon Brando) puts it to Mildred (Peggy Maley) in 1954’s (or 1953, depending on who you ask) The Wild One, when she asks, “What are you rebelling against, Johnny?”: “Whaddaya got?” In short, these are the men rebelling against everything, including their own effective banishment from “polite” society. (And, needless to say, Johnny is inspired to form the club in the first place as a result of watching this movie.)

While Lyon’s original book documents years going up to 1967, the film version of The Bikeriders goes up to the early seventies, with things taking a shift toward the decidedly sinister as the end of the sixties arrived, and more and more of the types of men joining up were drug users and/or recently returned from Vietnam with the PTSD to go with it. As Lyon himself remarked while still part of the club, “I was kind of horrified by the end. I remember I had a big disagreement with this guy who rolled out a huge Nazi flag as a picnic rug to put our beers on. By then I had realized that some of these guys were not so romantic after all.”

To that point, many who had tried to remain in the “lavender haze” of America’s postwar “prosperity” in the 1950s were starting to realize that maybe capitalism and communist-centered witch hunts weren’t so romantic after all, either. The sixties, indeed, was a decade that shattered all illusions Americans had about “sense,” “morality” and “meaning.” This perhaps most famously immortalized by Joan Didion writing, “The center was not holding. It was a country of bankruptcy notices and public-auction announcements and commonplace reports of casual killings and misplaced children and abandoned homes and vandals who misplaced even the four-letter words they scrawled. It was a country in which families routinely disappeared, trailing bad checks and repossession papers. Adolescents drifted from city to torn city, sloughing off both the past and the future as snakes shed their skins, children who were never taught and would never now learn the games that had held the society together. People were missing. Children were missing. Parents were missing. Those left behind filed desultory missing persons reports, then moved on themselves.”

Like Didion, Lyon was also part of the New Journalism “movement” in news reporting. He, too, inserted himself into the situation, into the “narrative.” One ultimately shaped and experienced by his own outsider views (like Didion documenting the “dark side” of Haight-Ashbury hippies in 1967’s “Slouching Towards Bethlehem,” quoted above). And what his photos and their accompanying interview transcriptions told the “squares” of America was this: their precious way of life was an illusion built on a house of cards. By a simple twist of fate, they, too, might find themselves as one of these “lost boys” or as one of the women who loved them. And oh, how Kathy loves Benny, even though it’s to her emotional detriment.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder that the musical refrain of The Shangri-Las opening “oooh” in “Out in the Streets” keeps playing throughout the film (because who knows more about biker boys than the Shangri-Las?). A constant callback to remind viewers of the track’s resonant lyrics, including, “He don’t hang around with the gang no more/He don’t do the wild things that he did before/He used to act bad/Used to, but he quit it/It makes me so sad/‘Cause I know that he did it for me (can’t you see?)/And I can see (he’s still in the street)/His heart is out in the street.” This song foreshadowing what Benny will end up sacrificing for Kathy by the end of the film.

Though, ultimately, the sacrifice is a result of knowing that the motorcycle club will never be what it was during its pure, carefree early years. Years that were untainted by vicious, violent power struggles—this most keenly represented in The Bikeriders by a young aspiring (and ruthless) rider billed as The Kid (Toby Wallace). It is his way of life, his lack of regard for anything resembling “tradition,” “integrity” or “honor among men” that most heartbreakingly speaks to how each subsequent generation of youth becomes more and more sociopathic. Whether in their bid to prove themselves as being “better” than the previous generation or merely exhibiting the results of being a product of their own numbed-out time. Either way, in The Bikeriders, the generational divide will prove to be the undoing of both sides, “old” and young.

Incidentally, this might be most poetically exemplified by a scene of Kathy and Benny watching an episode of Bewitched where Dick York is still the one playing Darrin, not Dick Sargent. Obviously, York was the superior Darrin. Not just because he was the original, but because he exuded a sleek, effortless sort of class that Sargent didn’t (though, funnily enough, York ended up leaving the show because of his painkiller addiction, related to the health issues he had sustained from a back injury while filming a movie five years before Bewitched—a meta detail as Benny is also laid up in bed due to his own “work-associated” injuries). The same goes for the old versus new guard motorcycle club members in The Bikeriders.